When I was six years old, I lost the hearing in both my ears.

It was an accident—one that happened because I was trying to pull Holden Holloway out of the deep end of the neighborhood pool.

Holden suffered from severe selective mutism back then, locked inside a quiet cage of his own making.

After that day, the weight of his guilt proved so crushing that he resisted speaking altogether. He couldn't even bring himself to say my name.

To keep us from sinking into an awkward silence, my best friend, Lacey, was always there, filling the air with her endless chatter about her teenage romance troubles. "Callie, I swear, I’ve never met a guy who talks so much in my life," she’d complain, tossing her hair with a dramatic sigh. "If we go out, he practically forces me to wear a jacket.

He's lectured me a thousand times about wearing short skirts on the bus." She’d lean in, her cheeks flushed. "The other day, I casually mentioned I wanted to hear him sing, so he went and practiced in secret until his voice was completely raspy.

He told me he wanted to give me the absolute best." When Lacey got carried away, she never noticed that my hearing aid was resting on the nightstand, its battery dead.

Catching my blank, uncomprehending stare, she’d tap my forehead with a teasing laugh. "You silly girl, Callie.

If someone ever stole your boyfriend right out from under your nose and did terrible things right in your ear, you wouldn't even hear it." I didn't understand what she meant back then.

I just smiled along like an idiot. It wasn't until the summer after high school graduation that I finally had the corrective surgery.

I took off my hearing aids quietly, hiding the truth. I wanted to give Holden and Lacey a wonderful surprise at the joint birthday party Holden and I shared every year.

During the tradition where we closed our eyes to make a wish over the candles, a low, familiar voice suddenly breathed softly near my right ear.

It was Holden. "My first wish: may Lacey always be healthy and safe.

My second wish: may Lacey get everything her heart desires." He spoke ten birthday wishes into the quiet dark, but not a single one had anything to do with me.

Until the very last one. "And my final wish... may Callie never hear clearly again.

Just so Lacey and I can stay together for one second longer." In that quiet, frozen moment, I opened my eyes. The realization hit me like a physical blow.

In this cruel game of deaf and mute love, I was the very last person to find out the truth. … Holden had leaned right against my cheek when he murmured those final words.

His tone was so serene, so practiced, as if the sentiment had rolled through his heart a thousand times before. It slipped past his lips as naturally as breathing.

As soon as the candles were blown out, the classmates gathered around the table erupted into a chorus of teasing shouts. "I knew I wasn't crazy!

Holden and Lacey really are a item!" "Right? They've been so sweet lately.

Holden barely talks to anyone, but when Lacey's eating, he acts like a anxious mom, constantly telling her not to choke." "It's like he wants to look after her twentyfour hours a day.

The amount of words he says to Lacey in a single afternoon could last him an entire year with Callie!" "If that isn't true love, I don't know what is!" A quieter voice piped up from the edge of the couch, hesitant. "Wait... what about Callie?

Didn't Holden use to..." "Oh, come on, what do you know?" someone else cut in, dismissing the thought instantly. "Holden only went along with that little deaf girl out of pity and gratitude.

She saved his life once, remember?" "Like the saying goes: home is where the heart is.

Just look at him—does Holden ever actually want to talk to her?" Perhaps because they assumed I couldn't hear without my hearing aids, and because neither Holden nor Lacey stepped up to deny it, the chatter only grew louder and more reckless.

For a long time, no one noticed how tightly I was gripping my hands in my lap. My knuckles were stark white, cold as ice, and my eyes burned with a terrible, unshed heat.

Surrounded by their laughter, my mind drifted back to all those afternoons when Lacey sat on my bed, sharing her "relationship troubles." She had complained about how overbearing her mysterious boyfriend was.

How he insisted on bundling her up when it was chilly, how he limited how many iced coffees she could order in the summer.

How he nagged her relentlessly about taking the bus in short skirts. Back then, I had only felt a gentle ache of envy. I envied her secret boyfriend for being nothing like Holden.

Holden, whose mutism made him retreat from communication so entirely that he couldn't even manage to utter my name once a week.

Though we were supposed to be a couple, our daily interactions consisted entirely of my onesided enthusiasm.

No matter what story I shared, his only responses were a nod, a shake of his head, or a curt, hollow hum.

I had wished a million times that he would say just one more word to me, show just a sliver of warmth. How foolish I had been.

The gentle, attentive love I craved so desperately wasn't something Holden lacked. He just hadn't chosen to give it to me.

Perhaps noticing how unnervingly still I sat, Holden finally shifted his gaze toward me.

He looked at the cocktail glass in my hand—a drink I had picked up by mistake—and his brows knit into a familiar, stern line. He gave me a sharp, reprimanding glare.

I knew that look. He was telling me not to touch things I couldn't handle, warning me not to embarrass him by getting tipsy and becoming a hassle he’d have to deal with.

In the past, I would have put the glass down immediately, eager to please.

But tonight, a deep, unbearable bitterness pooled at the back of my throat, and I felt a sudden, desperate urge to distract myself.

For the first time in my life, I pretended not to understand his unspoken order. I lifted the glass and took a tiny sip.

It was a sweet fruit wine, but as it slid down my throat, it tasted entirely of ash. Holden’s face darkened instantly.

He shot me a cold, disgusted glare before letting a single word slip through his teeth: "Drama." My fingers tightened around the stem of the glass until the thin crystal trembled.

A heavy suffocating weight lodged in my chest. As my boyfriend, he could have easily said, Don't drink too much, it's bad for you.

But instead, all he had for me was a single, dismissive label.

I couldn't stop the quiet thread of sarcasm that laced my voice. "And if it were Lacey drinking it... would she be dramatic, too?" My soft question was swallowed up by the movement of his chair.

Holden was already on his feet, walking right past me to intercept a classmate who was trying to hand Lacey a shot glass. "Lacey’s on her period and having bad cramps tonight," Holden said, his voice firm as he smoothly took the glass from her. "She can't drink cold alcohol.

Stop pressuring her." Without batting an eye, Holden tossed the drink back himself.

Then he leaned down toward Lacey, his tone dropping into a soft, murmuring cadence I had never heard him use before. "Is it getting a bit chilly in here?

I'll go adjust the AC." "Oh, and the pastries they served tonight are too sweet. I know you hate heavy sugar. I'll head over to Mrs.

Gordon’s bakery later and pick up those almond tarts you like." Mrs. Gordon’s artisanal pastries were limited to fifty boxes a day.

They used to be my absolute favorite; I had once woken up at five in the morning just to stand in line for them.

Holden had bought them for me exactly once in our entire lives, and afterward, he had called me fussy and spoiled for making such a big deal out of a pastry.

I had felt guilty and anxious about it for weeks. Yet Lacey hadn't even mentioned them, and he was offering to go out of his way to bring them to her on a silver platter.

Lacey gave his arm a playful, affectionate nudge, pouting slightly. "All right, all right, Mr. Nelson.

Go sit back down with Callie—it's her birthday today, too." "Otherwise she's going to end up crying later, and I really don't want to spend our latenight date coaxing her back to a good mood." Hearing her words, Holden frowned and cast a brief, reluctant glance in my direction.

Only then did he walk back over and sit down on the edge of the leather sofa. I knew he wasn't sitting beside me out of a desire to keep me company.

It was simply because his severe alcohol allergy was already flaring up; faint red hives were blooming along the skin of his forearm, and he didn't want Lacey to see them and worry.

A strange, hollow amusement washed over me. Looking at them now, from every conceivable angle, they were the ones who looked like a real couple.

I slowly finished the rest of the fruit wine, turned my head to look at his sharp profile, and spoke in a very quiet, very even voice. "Holden.

Let's break up." My mother had told me once that love ought to make you happy. If it doesn't, it isn't worth holding onto. Right now, I was miserable.

And so, I didn't want this relationship anymore. Holden heard me, but he remained completely silent.

He merely gave me a cool, unbothered look, as if watching a child throw a meaningless tantrum.

It was just like last winter, when my mother had flown to a quiet wellness retreat in Finland to recover from a chronic illness.

Left alone in our big, quiet house, I had woken up in the middle of the night from a terrifying nightmare.

I had called Holden, trembling, wanting nothing more than to hear his voice, to have him keep me company for just a few minutes.

He had stayed on the line in utter silence the entire time, offering not a single word of comfort, before finally uttering a cool critique: "Childish." Hurt and terrified, I had impulsively brought up breaking up then, too.

After a long pause, he had brushed it off with total indifference: "Callie, stop being ridiculous." Now, he clearly assumed I was playing the exact same game.

On the drive home, I pulled out my phone and sent a short text to my mother, explaining my decision.

Once she replied with her gentle approval, I opened the college enrollment portal on my browser.

With a few quick taps, I wiped out my previous choice and changed my university destination to Finland.

Lacey happened to glance over from the backseat, catching sight of the final confirmation screen.

Her expression flickered with something complex and hard to read. "Callie... are you really going to major in Computer Science at State University with us?" "I thought you loved fine arts?

You’ve always been a bit slow with technical stuff, you know.

If you can't keep up with Holden and me, don't expect us to tutor you every night." I looked out the window at the passing streetlights, my tone perfectly flat. "I won't need your tutoring." I hadn't selected State University at all.

I was moving to Northern Europe, to enroll in one of the finest academies of fine arts in Scandinavia.

If I was truly as foolish as she thought, then I would no longer force myself into majors—or relationships—that were never meant for me.

When Holden dropped us off at my house, he instinctively turned to give me a parting instruction: "Lacey’s cramping tonight.

Make sure you look after her." It was the only long sentence he had spoken to me all day. And yet, it was still entirely about Lacey.

I looked at him, my expression unreadable. "I'm not nearly as good at taking care of people as you are, Holden.

I wouldn't dream of taking your job." Holden stiffened for a fraction of a second.

A sharp, probing glint flashed across his dark eyes, and his voice dropped a few degrees colder. "What is that supposed to mean?" I curled my lips into a faint, bitter smile, opening my mouth to spell it out for him once and for all.

Before I could speak, Lacey rushed out of the hallway barefoot, wrapping her arms around my elbow in a needy, coaxing gesture. "Oh, why are you two standing out here bickering?

Just let Holden take care of it—I'm used to him by now anyway!" She giggled, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Callie, you aren't being petty, are you?

I'm really just riding on your coattails here, enjoying a bit of extra attention from my best friend's guy.

Don't overthink it." Before her voice had even fully faded, Holden had already bent down, picking up her discarded slipon shoes and setting them neatly at her feet. "It's cold out here.

Don't walk barefoot, you'll catch a chill." "Did you eat enough at the party?

Should I drive across town to get those steamed buns you love?" The instinctual, gentle concern had poured out of him so naturally that it took him a second to realize I was standing right beside them.

He broke off midsentence, catching himself. His eyes darted to my ears. Seeing that I wasn't wearing my hearing aids, a visible wave of relief washed over his features.

I let out a quiet, selfdeprecating laugh, turned around, and walked into my room to pack my bags.

Separated only by a thin drywall, they seemed entirely convinced that I couldn't hear a thing.

Lacey’s voice, thick with forced bravado and quiet tragedy, carried through the cracks of the door with crystal clarity. "Holden... stop frowning.

As long as I get to be happy, I don't care if we have to keep our love hidden underground for the rest of our lives." Holden’s voice sounded heavy, weighed down by remorse. "But it isn't fair to you." Lacey let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Well, what choice do we have?

She saved your life back then. Are you ever going to be able to shake her off? She’s my absolute best friend, Holden...

I don't want to destroy her either." Whatever Holden murmured in response, I couldn't hear anymore.

Heavy tears finally spilled over my lashes, smashing against the wooden floor and making my hands tremble violently.

I told myself this was the very last time I would ever allow myself to cry over them. Yet, through the blurry haze of my tears, memories kept flooding back.

I remembered how Lacey had once stood in front of me, trembling with terror herself, to block a group of teenage bullies who were trying to rip off my hearing aids.

To protect a deaf, timid girl, she had forced herself to transform from a quiet, introverted wallflower into a fierce, loudmouthed protector.

I remembered how she had turned back to me afterward, her face pale but her smile bright: "Callie, you stood up to those creepy neighbors for me and took them to court!

I can be brave for you, too!" I remembered how Holden had bowed his head to his overbearing father—a man he despised—just to secure the toptier medical clearance needed to fit me with my very first customized hearing aid.

I remembered the soft, fiercely gentle look in his eyes when he gently slid the tiny device behind my ear. Why hadn't anyone ever warned me?

Why had my devotion—my twelve long years of enduring a world stripped of sound—turned into a weapon they used against me, a bitter hostage situation of 'gratitude' and 'obligation'?

It didn't matter anymore.

In three days, none of this would have anything to do with me. …… Perhaps because my unusual calm on the night of the party had unsettled him, Holden initiated one of his customary silent treatments over the next fortyeight hours.

My heart didn't even register a ripple.

After all, our text history had always looked like this: I would send a picture of a cozy local diner, suggesting we try their housespecial soup noodles next time.

He would reply with a single Okay. There was never a next time. I would text him about a stray puppy I found in the alley, asking if we could shelter it together.

He would reply a full twentyfour hours later with a cold Sure. By the time his text arrived, the puppy had already been struck by a passing car.

Our normal routine was fundamentally indistinguishable from a cold war. Suddenly, my phone chimed on the desk. It was a link shared by Lacey in our threeperson group chat.

It directed to a verified creator profile on a popular audiobook app. Though she deleted the link almost instantly, I managed to catch the handle before it vanished.

It was Holden’s account. The profile hosted over three hundred voice recordings, each one lasting at least half an hour.

The content ranged from soft bedtime stories to motivational speeches for exams, to low, murmured love letters spoken into the dark.

And every single track began with the exact same whispered name: "Lacey." I remembered the week before final exams, when my anxiety was so severe I couldn't sleep for days on end.

I had begged him to record just a short audio clip, just to say You've got this, Callie.

He had merely looked at me and said: "Hard work matters more than platitudes." That sentence was six words long—two more than his usual limit—yet he had refused to give me a single second of comfort.

I let the audio tracks play one after another into the quiet room, acting as a silent audience to the grand narrative of their secret love.

When the last track finished, I took a screenshot of the creator page, posted it directly to my public social media feed, and attached a simple, threeword caption: So sweet, guys.

Within seconds, my phone began to vibrate wildly. Missed calls from Lacey and Holden flooded the screen in a desperate, relentless stream. I found it almost funny.

It seemed that only in moments like this could they muster such urgency for me. I ignored every single call.

Following my mother's advice, I listed my house with a local real estate agent, opting for a quick, undermarket cash sale.

Then, I scheduled a time with Holden’s mother to drop by their house and pick up a box of personal belongings my mother had left behind months ago.

When I arrived at the Holloway residence, both Lacey and Holden were standing in the entryway. Holden’s mother, Mrs.

Holloway, was standing by the stairs, her face pale with cold fury. "I saw the link Callie shared today, Holden," Mrs.

Holloway said, her voice shaking with suppressed anger. "What on earth is the meaning of this?" "You were the one who swore to me years ago that you would take care of Callie for the rest of your life to repay her.

Now you’re recording love stories and pouring your heart out to her best friend?

How am I supposed to look her mother in the eye?!" Holden stood with his head down, his posture stiff, his tone laced with a dark, bitter frustration. "You said it yourself, Mom—it was to repay her." "It’s been twelve years!

Do you have any idea how suffocating it is to know I’m bound to Callie for the rest of my life?

Every single time I look at her, she reminds me that I owe her my life!" "But Lacey is different! When I'm with Lacey, I feel like I can actually breathe!" SLAP!

A sharp crack echoed through the foyer. Holden’s head was knocked to the side. Mrs.

Holloway’s hand remained suspended in the air, trembling violently as she looked at her son with pure, unadulterated disappointment. "How did I raise such a cowardly, ungrateful disgrace?" "Tell me right now—when are you cutting ties with Lacey?!" Holden wiped a thread of blood from the corner of his lip, letting out a cold, hollow laugh. "Whenever Callie’s ears get better.

That’s when I’ll break it off." Lacey’s voice joined in, trembling and close to tears. "But Holden... the specialists said Callie’s hearing might never recover.

She might be like this forever." Holden went completely still, falling silent. Everyone in the room understood the unspoken meaning behind his silence.

He had no intention of ever letting Lacey go. A sudden, sharp numbness spread to the tips of my fingers.

Looking at Holden standing so defensively in front of Lacey, my mind flashed back to a very different memory.

I remembered the day I was being tormented by neighborhood kids, when no one in school wanted to sit next to the "deaf girl." Holden had secretly begged Lacey to become my friend, offering her his favorite collector toys in exchange.

I remembered when I was fifteen, after my father cheated on my mother and abandoned us without a dime.

Holden had stayed by my side in the pouring rain for hours, gently wiping my tears away with his thumb. "It’s okay, Callie," he had whispered into my damp hair. "You’ll always have me." Because of those words, I had fallen completely, hopelessly in love with him.

It took until today for me to realize the terrible truth. That wasn't love. It was merely a heavy, agonizing sense of duty pressing down on his chest.

And when a duty becomes too heavy, it rots into resentment. I took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the open front door. A wave of panic washed over every face in the foyer.

I pretended not to notice a thing. Stepping inside, I picked up the small cardboard box Mrs. Holloway had already packed for me on the coffee table.

Inside sat a dusty, worn notebook—the shared journal I had given Holden years ago.

Because he hated speaking, I used to write down all my thoughts, my daily stories, my quiet joys, and hand it to him so he could read my heart.

Looking at the thick layer of dust coating the cover, I finally understood. Someone who truly cares about you will fight through any obstacle to respond to your love.

They won't retreat into a stone wall of silence, locking you out of their world entirely. I offered Mrs. Holloway a polite, quiet thank you and turned to leave.

Before I could take a step toward the porch, a firm hand clamped around my wrist. Holden stared down at me, his dark eyes searching my face with an intense, agonizing intensity.

Beneath the tension, a fleeting flicker of deep guilt finally broke through his cold exterior. "Tomorrow," he blurted out, his voice raspy. "Let's go hike Mount Rainier tomorrow.

It’s... it's always been on your bucket list." Perhaps because my silence was so absolute, so unnerving, he had abandoned his usual oneword answers.

I stared at his hand on my wrist, then slowly nodded. It wasn't because my heart had softened.

I simply wanted to grant my youth one final, proper funeral. …… On the third day, we met at the base of the mountain trail.

Lacey hovered beside me for a long time before finally gathering the courage to speak. "Callie... I never meant to hurt you, really.

I was just worried Holden wouldn't know how to take care of you properly in the future... so I let him 'practice' being a boyfriend with me first.

Please don't misunderstand." I said nothing.

My mind involuntarily replayed the memory of her leaning close to my ear when she thought I couldn't hear, whispering about the secret gifts Holden had brought her.

Holden saw the faint red rimming Lacey’s eyes, and a flash of fierce, protective agony swept across his face.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it pinched, his voice carrying a dark warning: "Callie.

Did you lose your mouth along with your hearing?" I pulled my wrist out of his grip with steady, quiet force, letting out a soft, distant, "Okay." They seemed to believe I was still the same gullible fool I had always been, trusting whatever excuse they threw my way.

Slowly, the tension in their shoulders eased, and the awkward atmosphere began to thaw. Halfway up the trail, Lacey began to lag behind, complaining of exhaustion.

Holden promptly took her heavy backpack and slung it over his own shoulders. First, he acted as her human crutch; a few minutes later, he swept her up onto his back.

It wasn't until I had fallen a good thirty feet behind them that Holden bothered to turn his head.

He dropped two short words over his shoulder: "Keep up." I had once read in a travel journal that climbing a sacred mountain had the power to sever toxic bonds and align true soulmates.

But watching the stark contrast in how Holden treated the two of us, I realized it had nothing to do with the mountain. It was always about the person.

As I took another step, a sudden, searing pain shot through my left ear canal.

It was a severe nerve spasm—a painful, violent sideeffect of my recent surgery brought on by strenuous physical exertion. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead instantly.

A muffled groan slipped past my lips, and my knees buckled, forcing me to lean heavily against a jagged boulder by the path.

Holden paused and glanced back, his eyes narrowing as if evaluating whether I was staging a scene for attention. "What now?" I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching my head as I forced out a strained whisper. "My... my ears hurt..." Lacey’s soft, sorrowful voice immediately broke in from atop his back. "Callie, if you're jealous that Holden's carrying me, I can just walk down...

You really don't need to lie to us like this." That single sentence wiped the tiny flicker of concern right out of Holden’s eyes, replacing it with deep, icy disgust. "I don't know when you picked up these pathetic manipulation tactics, Callie," he sneered, turning his back on me entirely. "If you love acting so much, you can stay right there and put on a show for yourself." Without another word, their figures resumed their steady trek up the winding path.

Neither of them looked back. Neither of them stopped. The very last spark of warmth in my heart scattered into the mountain breeze, cooling into ash. I didn't keep climbing.

I turned around, walked back down the mountain step by agonizing step, and headed straight to the airport, where I exchanged my ticket for the very next flight to Helsinki. …… Five hours later, Holden and Lacey finally reached the summit.

Looking around at the crowded observation deck, Holden noticed that the quiet girl who usually trailed behind him was nowhere to be seen. His brows furrowed in annoyance.

He pulled out his phone and fired off a message to our threeperson group chat: Where are you? What kind of childish fit are you throwing now?

I already had my father contact the top ENT specialist in the state. He's coming to your house tomorrow morning for a full exam.

Since you couldn't even finish the hike, just find your own way back and stay home. I keep my promises. Once your hearing is completely cured, we can start over.

Neither of them noticed that the member count in the top corner of the group chat had quietly dropped from three to two.

The next morning, Holden arrived at my front porch alongside the specialist. He knocked on the heavy wooden door for several minutes, but no one answered.

Just as Holden was pulling out his phone in mounting frustration, the door swung open, revealing an unfamiliar middleaged woman looking at them with irritation. "Who are you people?

Why do you keep banging on my door?" Holden froze for a second. "Where’s Callie?

Who are you?" "We moved in yesterday!" the woman snapped, holding a moving box. "Callie is the landlord who sold us the house!

What is wrong with you people?" The door slammed shut in his face. Holden stood on the welcome mat, completely dumbfounded, his mind spinning into chaos.

Before he could process what was happening, the doctor standing beside him cleared his throat, his expression intensely complicated. "Mr.

Holloway... if the girl you're looking for is Callie Vincent, she’s actually my patient. But... her hearing was fully restored over a month ago."