My boyfriend, Glenn, was the star debater on our university’s champion team.

My cousin, Kendall, was his fiercely competitive teammate—the opponentturnedpartner who fought him tooth and nail over every single argument.

And I was just the silent girl on the sidelines, unable to utter a single word.

Today, the two of them had received a formal invitation to compete on a hit national television debate show. To celebrate, we went out for dinner at an upscale bistro downtown.

Yet, before the main courses even arrived, the two of them were already locked in a heated debate across the table.

The topic: "In love, what matters more—compatibility or chemistry?" "Compatibility wins every time," Kendall argued, leaning forward, her eyes bright with intensity. "Passion fades.

If your lives don't align logically, love isn't enough to sustain a relationship." Glenn immediately fired back, his voice smooth and persuasive. "If you can't be with the person you actually love, what's the point of being in a relationship at all?" Their words flew fast and sharp, impeccably structured and effortlessly logical.

I sat beside them, hands resting quietly in my lap, playing the part of their silent audience. Midsentence, Kendall choked on her water, breaking her cadence.

Glenn—who never surrendered an argument to anyone—instantly dropped his defense.

Without a second thought, he reached across the table and poured her a glass of warm honey water, sliding it toward her.

Kendall took a sip, her lips curving into a triumphant smirk. "You see? You lost.

Two people who aren't compatible should never end up together in the first place." She paused, casting a casual glance my way. "Just like you and Hailey." … The words hung in the air.

Realizing how cold it sounded, Kendall quickly smoothed her expression, leaning over to touch my arm. "Hailey, honey, I didn't mean it like that," she insisted softly. "You know I love you.

I just mean... you and Glenn don't really have much in common to talk about..." She trailed off, flustered. "Ugh, I'm explaining this so badly.

That's not what I meant at all..." The sharpest tongue on the collegiate debate circuit was suddenly stumbling over her words.

Perhaps it was because she had accidentally spoken the absolute truth—a truth so transparent even she couldn't construct a logical defense for it. "All right, that's enough," Glenn interrupted softly, stepping in to save her from her own embarrassment. "She's just saying that because she thinks I'm not good enough for you, Hailey.

She's trying to drive a wedge between us because she couldn't beat me in the argument." Kendall planted her hands on her hips, feigning outrage. "If we're talking about petty revenge, Glenn, nobody holds a candle to you!" She turned to me, her voice buzzing with animated frustration. "During practice last Saturday, I backed him into a corner until he had nothing left to say.

And what did he do? He stole my iced coffee and swapped it for a mug of hot chamomile tea because he knew I needed the caffeine to stay sharp.

Tell me that isn't devious!" My heart shrank into a cold, tight knot. I looked down at my phone, staring at the lock screen photo of Glenn and me.

Because Kendall and I had lived under the same roof for years, our body clocks had aligned. Our monthly cycles always hit at the exact same time.

Last Saturday had been the first day of my period. I spent that morning curled up in bed, paralyzed by unbearable abdominal cramps.

When I texted Glenn, he had simply replied: "Drink plenty of warm water and rest." In all the years we had been together, Glenn had never once brewed a hot cup of tea for me.

He always claimed he was too busy, too scatterbrained to notice the small things. As it turned out, he wasn't scatterbrained at all.

He remembered every trivial detail—as long as it belonged to Kendall. When I raised my head, I forced my facial muscles to relax.

I lifted my hands, signing gracefully with a faint, practiced smile: "Maybe he was just worried the ice would upset your stomach." "As if!" Kendall scoffed instantly. "He just wanted me to get drowsy so I'd make a mistake and let him win." She glared at him playfully. "And people say men don't play mind games.

You're full of them, Glenn." Glenn chuckled softly, picking up a piece of braised short rib with his fork and placing it onto her plate. "Mind games?

I'm just trying to keep you from passing out from pain again.

I don't have time to drive you to the emergency room twice in one month." Kendall's face flushed a deep, sudden crimson.

Without warning, she picked up her own fork, speared a piece of meat from her plate, and shoved it directly into Glenn's mouth. "Your mouth is way too big.

Eat your food and shut up." My fingers went numb. I quietly set my cutlery down on the table.

Kendall downed a glass of ice water, her cheeks gradually returning to their normal shade. Noticing I had stopped eating, she looked at me with genuine concern. "Hailey?

Why aren't you eating?" I swallowed against the lump in my throat and lifted my hands: "You just fed him with the fork you were using." Glenn froze midchew.

But he didn't spit the food out. I watched him, my chest aching as I signed: "Why aren't you spitting it out? Aren't you disgusted?" Glenn was a severe germaphobe.

I knew that better than anyone.

On the rare occasions he and I ate out alone, if I accidentally used my personal fork to serve shared food, he would notice immediately and discard whatever was in his mouth.

Since then, I had learned to be painfully cautious around him, terrified that my clumsy mistakes would make him uncomfortable.

Now, Glenn simply swallowed, his eyes avoiding mine. "It's fine.

It'd be a waste of food to spit it out." Kendall returned from the front counter holding a fresh set of wrapped silverware and slipped back into the booth next to me. "Thanks for reminding me, Hailey.

I almost shared utensils with him by accident." Before the sentence fully settled, Brody—another member of their debate team—materialized beside our table, a smirk plastered across his face. "Oh, please!

Like this is the first time you two have shared utensils," Brody teased loudly. "I was wondering why you guys skipped out on the team dinner tonight.

Turns out you were hiding here, having a quiet little date night! Unbelievable. Totally selfish." Glenn's patience snapped.

He stood up and delivered a firm smack to the back of Brody's head. "Shut your mouth if you don't know what you're talking about." My lips pressed into a thin line.

I reached out, tugging gently on Glenn's sleeve, and signed: "Why did you share utensils with Kendall before?" Glenn rubbed the back of his neck, his tone dismissive. "There was only one set of plastic cutlery left at the debate office late one night.

We broke it in half to share a meal while editing slides. It wasn't a big deal." Kendall chimed in, "Yeah, we literally split a pair of wooden chopsticks down the middle!

Brody's just looking for a beating with that big mouth of his." Brody finally noticed me sitting quietly in the corner of the booth.

His grin dissolved into a cringe, and he awkwardly scratched his head. "Oh—hey, Hailey. I didn't see you there. I was totally joking, don't mind me!

Tell you what, let me order a couple extra appetizers for you guys to make up for it." "There's no room on this table," Kendall cut in smoothly. "Why don't we just combine tables?

Hailey is part of the debate family too.

It's totally fine if she joins the rest of the team." For every single debate match Glenn had ever competed in, I had sat in the front row as his quietest, most loyal supporter.

Over time, his teammates had all come to recognize me. Glenn leaned down, looking into my eyes. "Do you want to join them?

You can say no if you're uncomfortable." Kendall wrapped her arm around mine, coaxing softly, "Come on, Hailey, come with us!

Dinners are always better with a crowd." Before I could raise my hands to decline, Kendall was already pulling me by the wrist toward the private dining room at the back of the restaurant.

Inside, the team was midconversation, the air buzzing with laughter. Kendall seamlessly slid into the crowd, chatting animatedly.

As soon as Glenn stepped through the door, she patted the empty chair directly to her left. "Over here, Glenn! I saved you a spot." Glenn frowned, his boots catching on the carpet.

He stopped, looking at the guy sitting next to me, and knocked gently on the table. "Hailey isn't comfortable sitting next to people she doesn't know well.

Mind switching with me so you can take the seat next to Kendall?" The room fell quiet for a fraction of a second.

Kendall's expression faltered, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her features before she offered me an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, Hailey.

I'm just so used to Glenn sitting on my left during prep sessions." Someone at the table quickly jumped in to break the tension. "Hey, habit's a good thing!

When you two get on national TV tomorrow, you need to stick to your designated sides so you don't look messy in front of the cameras." And just like that, what was supposed to be a small celebration for Glenn and Kendall turned into a raucous, chaotic party for the entire debate squad.

I sat there, feeling like a ghost haunting a room full of living people.

Eventually, I signed to Glenn that I needed to use the restroom, stepping out into the hallway to catch my breath.

On my way back, I caught the bitter scent of cigarette smoke wafting from the balcony at the end of the corridor. Glenn never smoked—he knew I was sensitive to the smell.

Was he stressed? Impelled by a sudden, quiet impulse, I stepped into the shadowed corner near the balcony doors.

Brody was leaning against the railing, taking a drag from his cigarette before looking at Glenn with a heavy sigh. "Seriously, man... quit dodging the question.

What the hell is going on with you three? The night Kendall went to the ER, I saw you two kissing in the hallway.

And now you're acting like you and Hailey are still totally fine?" My breath hitched in my throat.

The sudden, unexplained blush on Kendall's face earlier tonight suddenly made complete, sickening sense. Glenn remained silent, staring out at the city lights.

Brody stubbed out his cigarette against the metal ash tray, exasperated. "If you really love Kendall, just be honest with Hailey and break it off. They're cousins, Glenn.

Are you really going to destroy their family dynamic over a crush?" "I can't," Glenn finally spoke, his voice low and raspy. "I have to stay with Hailey. I owe her.

My whole family owes her." The words were spoken to Brody, but they struck me like a physical blow, making me tremble from head to toe. I wasn't born mute.

When I was six years old, Glenn's parents went through a bitter, violent divorce.

They screamed and shoved each other in the courtyard of our apartment complex over financial assets.

During the scuffle, Glenn's mother wildly swung a stray utility knife, accidentally slicing deep into my throat. The wound was severe.

Though paramedics saved my life, my vocal cords were permanently destroyed. Afterward, Glenn's parents paid a legal settlement and went their separate ways.

But Glenn became my shadow. Wherever I went, he followed, protecting me, carrying my bag, holding my hand.

For over a decade, I believed we were childhood sweethearts bound by genuine affection.

I had never once imagined that his devotion was nothing more than an agonizing sentence of guilt he felt forced to serve.

Brody was silent for a moment. "If that's how it is, then keep your distance from Kendall.

Stop giving her mixed signals." Glenn lifted his head, a look of profound misery in his eyes. "But Brody... if I can't be with the person I actually love... what is the point of any of this?" So that was it.

The fierce argument at the dinner table—the passionate defense of choosing the person you truly love over the person who makes sense—had been his quiet confession all along.

I let out a soundless, bitter laugh. I didn't walk back into the private room.

I turned around, pulled my coat tightly around myself, and walked home alone through the cold evening air.

When I opened the front door, my mother was sitting on the living room sofa, knitting a sweater.

Hearing the door, she looked up casually. "I thought you were out having dinner with your sister. Why are you back so early?" I raised my hands, signing simply: "I was tired.

I came back first." She didn't ask further, resuming her knitting.

I retreated to my tiny bedroom, pulled the comforter over my head, and wept silently until sleep finally pulled me under.

Late that night, my bedroom door was slammed open with a deafening bang. The overhead light flickered on blindingly.

My mother stood in the doorway, her face pale with fury. "Your sister and Glenn have been going crazy looking for you!

They were about to go to the police station to file a missing person's report!

And here you are, hiding in your room sleeping?" The sudden light and raised voices shattered my sleep.

My eyes were swollen shut from crying, stinging painfully as I tried to open them.

Kendall rushed in behind my mother, her eyes redrimmed as she threw her arms around me. "Auntie, please don't yell at Hailey! It's my fault.

She was probably just tired and forgot to text us." My father stood in the hallway, his posture stiff with irritation. "She's twenty years old. Leaving without saying a word?

Even if she can't speak, does she not know how to send a text message?" I sat frozen on the bed, staring at them in silence.

When Kendall was seven, both of her parents died in a tragic highway collision.

Deeply griefstricken over the loss of her sister, my mother took Kendall in, raising her as her own daughter. Kendall was smart, articulate, and deeply perceptive.

She knew exactly how to make adults love her. More than that, she bore a striking physical resemblance to my late aunt. My mother adored her.

Loved her, perhaps, even more than she loved me. Ever since childhood, the phrase I heard most often in our home was: "You have to yield to Kendall. Take care of Kendall.

Never make Kendall feel like an outsider." So, as a child, I gave up the larger bedroom to her. As I grew up, I gave up my parents' undivided attention.

Slowly, I became the real outsider in my own home.

For the first time in my life, looking at the three of them standing together in my doorway, I felt an overwhelming sense of estrangement.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel the urge to cry.

Deep down, I had always known the truth: between a quiet, broken girl who couldn't speak and a brilliant, charming girl who shone under every spotlight, no one would ever choose me.

I lifted my trembling hands to apologize, trying to explain that I had simply forgotten to check my phone. But my mother didn't even bother watching my signs to the end.

She turned on her heel and walked away. Kendall patted my shoulder gently. "Auntie just speaks harshly because she cares.

She was sick with worry when she couldn't find you." I lowered my head, keeping my thoughts to myself. My mother had known I was home all along.

Her anger wasn't born of fear for my safety—it was anger that I had made Kendall worry unnecessarily. After Kendall left my room, I picked up my laptop and opened my messaging app.

The last text from my academic advisor was from a week ago, asking me to make up my mind about the prestigious graduate program at Columbia University in New York.

Because the university was thousands of miles away from home, I had been hesitating for weeks, reluctant to leave Glenn. Now, my mind was entirely clear.

I typed out a message: "Professor, I want to accept the nomination for the Columbia program." She replied almost instantly with a zip file of registration forms. "Fill these out and send them back before tomorrow morning.

The summer onboarding orientation starts in two days.

You need to book the earliest flight to New York tonight." I sat up, opened the files, and began filling out the endless pages of documentation.

By the time I submitted everything, the clock on my screen read 1:00 AM. Because I had stayed up almost all night, I slept straight through until noon the next day.

When I checked my phone, there were several unread texts from Glenn. "Text me when you wake up. I have something for you." "What is it?" I typed back. He didn't reply to the text.

Instead, five minutes later, the front doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Glenn was standing on the porch, a heavy suitcase resting beside his feet.

He scanned me from head to toe, letting out a long, audible breath of relief when he saw I was safe. "I was going to come over with Kendall last night," he explained softly, "but the network producers called us in late to finalize our shooting schedule.

By the time we finished, it was past midnight, so I didn't want to wake you." He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a sleek, thick envelope containing three frontrow VIP tickets to the televised debate tournament. "I asked the producers specifically for these seats," he said, his eyes searching my face. "They're right in front of the center stage.

Reserved just for you." I held the tickets, glancing at the printed date and time. The live taping had been rescheduled to tomorrow morning. What a coincidence.

My flight to New York was scheduled for tomorrow morning, too. "This is the biggest stage Kendall and I have ever been on," Glenn said, his voice laced with genuine excitement. "I really need you to be there, Hailey.

Promise me you'll come root for us." I pressed my lips together and signed slowly: "If I have time, I'll go." Glenn smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "That's a deal, then.

Kendall and I have to head to the studio early to rehearse. When you come tomorrow, make sure you stick close to your parents, okay?

I don't want you getting lost in the crowd." Kendall rolled her suitcase out of the guest room, cutting him off with a laugh. "She knows, Glenn!

Since when did you become such a nagging mother hen? Instead of worrying about Hailey, you should doublecheck your own gear.

You're the one who always forgets his credentials." Glenn's attention immediately shifted to her.

He tapped her forehead lightly with his knuckles, laughing. "You always have to have the last word, don't you?" I stood in the doorway, watching their intertwined shadows disappear into the elevator.

Once the doors slid shut, I closed the heavy front door, walked back into my bedroom, and calmly tore the VIP ticket into tiny, jagged pieces, dropping them into the trash bin.

This time, I was going to be the main character of my own life. I was done sitting in the front row, clapping for theirs.