SAB AY
Author
About
Sab Ay is a passionate storyteller and advocate for mental health. Growing up neurodivergent, Sab found solace in the world of books and writing. This evolved into crafting narratives that explore the profound journeys of self-discovery, resilience, and the complexities of adolescence.
When Sab isn't writing stories she hopes make the reader cry, she can be found reading obscure middle grade and young adult books not typically seen online, drinking obscenely sweet iced coffees, or listening to Taylor Swift and drawing her characters.
Books
All the Things I Cannot Say (debut novel, OUT NOW wherever books are sold)
Between Touch and Time (short story series with Bardics Anonymous)
Where We End and Begin (novelette, OUT NOW wherever books are sold)
All the Things I Cannot Say
(May 6, 2025)
Perfect for fans The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Gilmore Girls, comes the quiet journey of a boy who realizes he can’t hide his intrusive thoughts and obsessive behaviors forever.Logan Clark has always had issues. Going all the way back to being four-years-old and crying after stepping on a sidewalk crack. He’d been good at hiding it, though—great friends and a spot on the school football team.But his façade is starting to crack, starting with his mother deciding that his therapist simply isn’t cutting it. Now off the football team, he’s going to a treatment center four times a week and having breakdowns in front of his friends.None of which is helped by the fact that he’s been paired up with an old friend (who hates his guts now) for a school project. An old friend who has the uncanny ability to see right through him.With a dose of self-deprecating humor, debut author, Sab Ay, has crafted a a fiercely hopeful coming-of-age story that is sure to resonate with audiences.
.PRAISE:
"Poignant, funny, and heartbreaking. This is a book you won't soon forget."
-Lisa Graff, author of the Junior Library Guild book, Lost in the Sun"Sab Ay’s debut novel is an honest, at times gut-wrenching, and ultimately hopeful account of one young person’s challenges with OCD, but also with navigating shifting friendships, fraught families, and first loves. An insightful and powerful coming of age story that marks the arrival of a talented new voice."
-John David Anderson, author of the Charlotte Huck Award winner, Ms. Bixby's Last Day"This debut novel from author Sab Ay is one to watch: An authentic voice, compassionate treatment of mental health, and a moving exploration of identity through the challenges of anxiety and OCD. This is an honest and open story about mental health, but it's also a story about crushes, angst, and friendship that is really going to appeal to young readers. I found myself rooting for Logan right away (and his great taste in music). This novel would make for an excellent addition to any school or home library."
-Wesley King, author of the Silver Birch Award winner, OCDaniel"A powerful story that gives an authentic, poignant portrayal of a boy harnessing the courage to hope. You’ll cheer for, laugh with and cry alongside Logan as he grapples with OCD, first crushes, and middle school bullies in this bold, honest book. His courage, vulnerability and wit will stick with and empower young readers."
-Beth Vrabel, author of the Cybil Awards finalist, Caleb and Kit"Ay pulls no punches in this debut as she puts you squarely into the mind of a complex, neurodivergent character that so many of us find connections with in these pages . Surrounded by a supporting cast of friends and foes (you'll LOVE Ivan and Octavia), readers will walk away with a great deal of empathy and understanding for anyone they know living with OCD thanks to the fast-paced dialogue and intensity that Ay builds throughout."
-Adam P Schmitt, author of the Golden Sower finalist, Speechless"All the Things I Cannot Say is an incredibly beautiful and devastatingly raw middle grade novel. Sab Ay’s characters are all complex and realistic, I had to remind myself that they were fictional. I just know that this book is going to help so many people."
-Lily Grace, author of Last Summer"This book is sweet, charming, and so so real. It’s something I wish I could give my 13-year-old self, and that healed my 22-year-old self in ways I didn’t know I needed. This is one of those stories that will stay with you long after you put the book down. As an OCD-haver and a human being, I want everybody to read this book."
-Chloe Henkel, author of Unthinkable Things
Between Touch and Time
(Bardics Anonymous)
Declan Reed knows nothing about himself when he wakes up in the white room. Nothing when the disembodied voice in the corner gives him a list of questions. Nothing when he hears the girl yelling next door. He's given a file with his basics--he learns he's an American fourteen-year-old named Declan, but little else.When he begins talking to the girl next door, who tells him her name is Lyla, they try to piece together who they are, what could've happened to them, and why they have no memory of their pasts.
(also known as: The I.I. Files)
Where We End and Begin
(Kindle Unlimited)
"i had the nightmare again. the one where i can feel the weight, smell the perfume, feel the cold porcelain..."Elliot Finch is a quiet boy. He loves the beach and pancakes at the local diner and drawing in his journal. A journal that housed his most private, most intimate thoughts and feelings. A journal that was never meant to be seen by anyone other than himself. But someone did see it, and it ruined his life.Everything in Elliot's life is now marked as "before" or "after" The Party, and he vowed to never put his thoughts down on paper again, that way no one can use them against him.But when Ms. Sue, the high school guidance counselor, tells him to journaling might help him process his feelings, he begins writing again. Slowly, the journal entries peel back the layers, revealing what happened to him the night of The Party, and maybe, maybe help him move on.
Content Warnings
All the Things I Cannot Say
Language: Uses of hell, damn, pissed, crap, as well as ableist language such as "freak" and "psycho".
Sex, Romance & Nudity: The romance between Logan and Molly plays a large role in the story, but it never goes beyond a few (realistically clumsy) kisses. Calvin talks about having kissed a girl during spin-the-bottle. The boys talk a bit about girls "growing". Logan talks about his attraction to Molly, particularly in a handful of (not graphic) dreams. He often refers to himself as a "perv" for being attracted to her. Liv, a girl in Logan's group therapy has "erotophobia" (fear of sex) and a boy makes jokes about it, making the (untrue) claim that she gets to watch porn in therapy. Piper occasionally says things that could be taken inappropriately, but she's always very matter of fact about it, and the scenes are more humorous than sexual. Talk of boys needing to "cover themselves" around the girls they like.
Violence: Logan suffers from "harm OCD", meaning that his intrusive thoughts are often violent and disturbing. He goes on true crime deep dives as part of his compulsions and details about the Zodiac Killer, Jeffrey Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy, and Ted Bundy are mentioned in the story. At a school dance, Logan sees a boy harassing Molly and gets into a fight with him to protect her. Calvin gets into a fight to defend Logan at a party. A boy Logan makes friends with at the treatment center suffers from trauma (after being sexually assaulted). Online bullying occurs after a private letter circulates on social media.
Drinking, Drugs & Smoking: Medically prescribed medication for OCD plays a role at the end. Logan, when talking about self-destructive behavior, says his habits are better than drinking and smoking crack.Trigger Warnings
Graphic: Intrusive Thoughts, Medical Content, OCD, Panic Attacks
Moderate: Ableist Language, Bullying, Self Destructive Behavior, Divorce, Injury Detail, Violence
Mild: Ableism, Sexual Trauma, Rape, Vomit
Between Touch and Time
Language: Hell, damn, pissed, and crap.
Sex, Romance & Nudity: Declan wakes up in the white room completely naked, talks about "traumatizing" the person watching him and covering himself before "they" can see any more. Declan and Lyla clearly have a connection, but it blurs the line between friendship and romance, except during the pool scene. In part 5, Declan and Lyla find themselves in a pool that seemingly heightens their desires. Their hormones run rampant, leading to some kissing before they realize that something is wrong.
Violence: The kids speculate that they were kidnapped or they're being experimented on.
Drinking, Drugs & Smoking: NoneTrigger Warnings
Graphic: Confinement, Forced Institutionalization, Gaslighting
Moderate: Classism, Trafficking
Mild: Kidnapping
Where We End and Begin
Language: Hell, damn, and crap. Elliot censors the word "b---h" because Nina doesn't approve of it. Paris accuses Nina of calling her a "slut".
Sex, Romance & Nudity: Elliot is a fifteen year old boy, and has a burgeoning interest in girls and their bodies. He talks about breasts occasionally, noting his interest in them. His discomfort in his body, and with his private area specifically, plays a major role in the story. He talks about wearing tight underwear to hide his erections after Paris points them out. There's a very vulnerable scene where Elliot strips down in front of his mirror and dissects his naked body, including his penis, as he tries to figure out why he was victimized as opposed to other boys. He mentions writing about his "nocturnal emissions" in his old journal (though none of them are on-page) and mentions having one about Paris. He drew a nude portrait of Paris alongside his entry of the dream (neither of which are on-page). During Elliot and Nina's first kiss, he freaks out when she attempts to use her tongue and tells her not to do that anymore.
Violence: A core piece of the story is that Elliot was raped by Paris at a party. The scene is not gratuitous or explicit, but it's clear what's happening. There's talk of him telling her to stop while she blatantly ignores him, he says he tried pushing her away but she got "on top of him" and "shoved her tongue" down his throat so he couldn't speak. The story deals primarily with Elliot's trauma after the party. Scenes with Paris afterwards are very tense and it's clear she has no respect for his personal boundaries. Nina gets into a fight with Paris, leaving both girls bloody. Elliot has scars on his thighs from where he cut himself after the party, saying that he just "wanted to stop feeling her hands".
Drinking, Drugs & Smoking: Elliot talks about kids sneaking alcohol at the party, but he found the drink gross after trying it. Marty got drunk at the party, leaving Elliot alone. Paris was under the influence when she assaulted Elliot.Trigger Warnings
Graphic: Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Trauma, Trauma
Moderate: Rape, Self-Harm
Mild: Bullying
Character Extras
deleted scenes
ORIGINAL OPENING
(This was the opening for the first three drafts. While I was writing draft 3, I started creative writing classes and we had to present the openings of our projects to the class. Everyone, including my professor, agreed that the prologue felt unnecessary and that this information could be relayed later. I agree now, but this opening does still hold a special place in my heart.)
Prologue
They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me at first.
They couldn’t figure it out when I was four and had a crying fit after stepping on a stupid sidewalk crack on the way to school.
They couldn’t figure it out when I was six and my first-grade teacher had to call my mother because I was “inconsolable” and wouldn’t tell anyone why. (I had eaten a peanut butter cookie next to my older brother that morning and for some God-forsaken reason, I got it into my head that he was allergic to peanuts because he never ate peanut butter. Turns out he just thought peanut butter was gross and was perfectly fine.)
And they couldn’t figure it out when I was eight and freaked out over that dang firetruck.
Although, that night was kind of a turning point.
The last night of summer was always a big deal in my family. We’d make this whole thing of going out to dinner and getting dessert and all that. This family that moved into our neighborhood when I was a toddler always joined us. So, we had all just finished up a dinner of pizza and salad at Attilano’s and were sitting outside the ice cream shop next door.
At that time, I was best friends with the Pearson’s daughter, Molly. The two of us were messing around by the big fountain that was out by the tables, probably pretending we were the rulers of Atlantis when, all at once, the unmistakable wail of a fire truck started in the distance.
Whatever I had been doing with Molly was out of my mind then. The only thing I was thinking of was the siren and the truck and everything that could mean.
“Do you hear that?” I asked her. It was getting hard to breathe.
Molly looked up from where she was standing on the fountain, following my gaze to where I figured the sound was coming from. After a moment, she shrugged. “It’s just a firetruck.”
Just a firetruck. Just. That’s all it was to her. Just a firetruck. All the things that the siren could mean hadn’t even crossed her mind.
A house on fire. A family inside. Open windows to let the smoke out.
And there it was. That voice.
It’s going to your house.
That voice had been in the back of my mind for a while before that. It was the same voice that told me the world was going to end because of a stupid, stupid, stupid sidewalk crack in preschool.
I shook my head, trying to get rid of it.
Did you leave the straightener plugged in? I’m sure Mom didn’t unplug it before we left and you were too excited to see Molly that you completely forgot to check and now look where we are.
The sirens got louder.
My throat was tightening.
Definitely going to your house. Great going.
The images that had flashed in my mind of some random family’s house burning down were quickly replaced with my house. My stuff. My toys. My clothes. The fire department not showing up in time and the flames engulfing the whole street.
I shook my head again, trying to blink back the images, but it was no use.
“Are you okay?” It was Molly’s voice. I could feel her hand on my arm, but she sounded so far away.
A lot of what happened next is a blur to me. I remember my brother getting up from his chair and rushing over, kneeling in front of me and asking me what happened. I remember the car ride back home, leaning against my brother and playing games on his phone. And I remember getting home to find our house perfectly intact.
No sign of a fire anywhere.
But Mom and Dad’s conversation later that night? I remember that loud and clear.
“Bernadette, he’s always been an anxious kid. He’s probably just a little scared about starting school tomorrow.” That was my dad. He always sucked at being quiet.
“I know he’s an anxious kid. Who do you think is always the one to pick up the pieces when he gets like this?” My mom is better at whispering, but her voice had started to rise then and she stopped. When she spoke again, I had to really press my ear to the door to listen to her words. “I’m just worried. Zack never worried like this. Molly’s a little high strung sometimes but I’ve never seen her break down like Logan does.”
“Every kid is different; some get more emotional than others—”
“I want to take Logan to a doctor after school tomorrow,” my mom said suddenly.
It was quiet after that, the words *Logan and doctor and after school hung in the air.
Then, my mom said, even quieter, “This is more than him just being a ‘little emotional’, Lucas. Something’s genuinely wrong here and choosing to ignore it isn’t going to help him.”
“So then what are you going to do tomorrow, huh? Take him to the doctor and say, ‘I don’t know how to take care of my kid so please give him drugs to fix it?”
The mention of drugs freaked me out enough that I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t know exactly what “drugs” were but I knew that they were always telling us to “say no to drugs” at school and the thought of a doctor giving them to me was scary.
I ended up tiptoeing down to the basement where Zack’s room was. He was seven when I was born and after a month of sharing a room with me screaming at all hours of the night, he announced that he was moving down to the basement. Sometimes, though, if he knew I was having a rough night, he’d let me sleep in his bed.
As long as I was quiet.
***
I’m not sure what Dad told Mom after I left for Zack’s room that night, but after school the next day, Mom didn’t take me to a doctor. At least, I don’t think this person’s a certified doctor.
Mom had this friend from college who became a “magnet field therapist”. She tried it out on herself and said she “felt like a whole new person” and decided that she wanted to help others also feel like brand new people I guess.
“Thank you for getting us in on such short notice, Karen,” Mom said, shuffling me into the tiny waiting room before her.
Karen stepped out from behind her small desk at the entrance and smiled brightly. She had on bright pink lipstick and workout clothes. I didn’t think I’d ever met a doctor who wore workout clothes to work.
“No problem! Anything for Bernadette’s kids.”
I had met this woman once, maybe twice, tops, before this meeting.
There was no way this was the waiting room. It was so small. Most of the space was taken up by Karen’s desk and the shelf of pill bottles against the far wall. Was this seriously it?
“Follow me.” Karen motioned us down the hall to a small room with what looked like two folding tables in the center. On one wall, she had a shelf with a few salt lamps and one of those essential oil diffusers. At the bottom were a bunch of drawers filled with who knows what.
“And you’re sure this will help?” Mom asked.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Karen waved her hand dismissively. “You know, I’ve had cancer patients come in here, basically dying, and after a few months, they felt like their old selves again.”
It sounded to me that if someone was dying, they should go to the hospital, but I didn’t say anything. I was stuck on the fact that this woman seemed to know all about what happened last night. Had Mom told her? How much did she know?
“Okay, Logan, sit right up here.” She patted one of the tables and I hopped up, already mildly uncomfortable. “Today is going to be a tester.” She held up two circles that looked sort of like hockey pucks, one red and one black. “These are magnets and I’m going to put them on different parts of your body. They’re going to tell us what you need help with.”
She was speaking slowly, like I was three instead of eight.
Although, slowly or not, I had no clue how magnets were going to tell her that I was scared of leaving things plugged in so our house wouldn’t burn down, but I stayed quiet.
“That sound good?”
I didn’t answer at first. The thought of this strange woman touching me freaked me out. But then I caught Mom’s eye. She was standing in one corner of the room and she smiled so hopefully that I turned back to Karen and gave her a slow nod.
“Perfect! Now lie back.” She put a hand on my shoulder and positioned me to lie flat on the hard table, staring up at the ceiling tiles.
The next hour was basically just me lying there while Karen put magnets all over my body and asked me questions like, “Do you have stomach issues?” “Do you get headaches?” “When’s the last time you felt out of breath?”
The whole thing was weird, uncomfortable, boring, and for some reason, it was freezing in the room. My fingers were numb by the time it was all over.
I’ve done a little research on this stuff in the years since and I’m not going to deny that it works for some people, but I have a feeling it only works on people that have, like, physical pains. It all has something to do with magnets moving your blood around but I have no idea how that’s supposed to help a kid whose problems are all in his brain.
After a few months of going to Karen’s office twice a week, there was still no difference with the voices in my head. They were still there, making my life miserable. Mom could tell that my mood hadn’t changed, so she just stopped taking me, telling Dad something about how fifty bucks a session was too expensive for something that wasn’t working.
Wow. Look at how much they wasted on you for something that didn’t even work.
Yep. Definitely still there.
It was a few more years before my dad finally caved and let Mom take me to a child psychologist where we finally got some answers.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: a mental illness categorized by reoccurring unwanted thoughts, ideas, or sensations that drive the sufferer to carry out behaviors repeatedly.
It feels a lot more complicated than that, but that’s the basic gist of it.
I’m thirteen now and the worries have hopped around from topic to topic over the years, but the night with the firetruck stayed with me. I think a lot about what house the firetruck could have been going to and whether or not the family inside is okay.
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