The Risk From I Signed Alone, The Wedding I Called Off Chapter 08
At the annual industry showcase, I won Best Audio Drama
Writing. The presenter read my name. “Elara Vance, Unheard.”
The room applauded. I walked onto the stage. In the very
back row, I saw Bryce. He’d lost weight. He was clutching that cassette recorder.
I glanced at him once. Then I looked away.
I leaned into the mic. “This project is called Unheard. It’s not
here to condemn anyone. It’s here to tell anyone who needs
to hear it: being ignored is not your fault.”
Don’t waste your life on someone who refuses to listen.”
The room went silent for a beat. Then the applause came louder.
went on, “I once lost my voice. Later, I realized–losing your
voice isn’t the worst thing. The worst thing is giving your
voice to someone who doesn’t want to hear it. So I turned my
scars into a project. And into a blade.”
The applause swallowed the second half of my sentence,
Bryce sat in his seat. Head bowed. Like he was finally learning how to listen.
After the showcase, a crowd came up to exchange contacts.
Owen deflected half of them. “Ms. Vance’s voice is still recovering. One at a time, please.”
Someone teased, “Protecting her like that–are you her boss or her boyfriend?”
Owen’s ears went red. He looked at me. “That depends on
whether Ms. Vance wants to promote me.”
The people around us laughed. I laughed too.
That was when Bryce walked over. Owen stepped half a step forward.
Bryce stopped. “I’m not here to make a scene.”
said, “Good.”
He heard my voice. His eyes immediately reddened. “You got it back.”
Yeah.”
That’s so good.”
He held out the cassette recorder. “This belongs to you.”
I didn’t take it. “I don’t want it anymore.”
Your grandmother’s voice is on it.”
“I have backups.”
This is the original.”
I looked at that recorder. The case had been replaced. The
screen had been replaced. It wasn’t the same object anymore.
I said, “Bryce, some things don’t go back to the way they were
just because you fix them.”
His fingers tightened around it. “I know. I just wanted to
return it to you myself.”
I took it. Then I turned and handed it to Sasha. “Isn’t the
museum looking for vintage recording equipment for that
exhibit? Donate it.”
Sasha asked, “For real?”
“Yeah.”
Bryce watched me. It was like something inside him finally
snapped clean.
He asked, “Do you hate me at all anymore?”
thought about it. “No.”
His eyes flickered with something. I added, “And I don’t love
you either.”
That flicker died. He dropped his head.
A long moment passed. He said, “Does he treat you right?”
I looked toward Owen.
Owen didn’t interrupt. He just stood there.
I said, “That’s not your business.”
Bryce let out a hollow laugh, “You’re right.”
He stepped back. “Elara, I’m sorry.”
I said, “Alright.”
“Can I wish you well?”
“Sure.”
His voice went hoarse. “Then I hope every
now on lands on someone who listens.”
word you say from
I tightened my grip on my water glass. That sentence was
sharp. Not because he meant it to be. But because fate had
finally taught him exactly where the knife goes deepest.
I said, “I hope you learn how to listen, too.”
Bryce nodded. He turned and walked away.
He glanced back at the door. I was talking to Owen. “The
presenter mispronounced my name,” I grumbled.
Owen leaned down to hear me. “I caught that. Called you
E–lar–a instead of El–air-a. Like a sci–fi character.”
“You’re laughing.”
I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at how he butchered your name.”
That’s even more rude.”
“I’ll work on that.”
Bryce stood there for a long time.
Later. Sasha told me he’d cried outside the doors, I didn’t ask about it.
Some tears come too late. They can’t revive something that’s already gone dry.
Owen and I got together in the spring of the following year.
Right after a follow–up scan. The doctor said, “Everything
looks great. Come back in six months.”
walked out of the exam room. Owen stood in the hallway
holding two cups of coffee. “Sweet or savory?”
I asked, “Savory? Who orders savory coffee?”
“Someone in front of me did. My brain short–circuited.”
I took the sweet one. “So you bought the savory one too?”
Silence.
I looked down at the other cup in his hand. “You actually bought it.”
Scientific curiosity,” he said.
He took a sip. His face twisted. “Experiment failed.”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
He looked at me and suddenly said. “Elara, I like you.”
I stopped.
He immediately tacked on. “Not because you were sick. Not
because I want to take care of you. Not because I think you need someone.”
“I like you because your client feedback is surgically precise.
“Because you can turn terrible ad copy into something that sounds human.”
“Because you were dead serious when you said that cloud
looked like a squashed fish.”
And because when you laugh, I want to keep saying dumb things.”
held my coffee. I didn’t say anything.
He stepped back half a pace. “You don’t have to answer now.”
I can wait in line.”
asked, “Is there a line?”
Yep.”
I blinked.
He said, completely serious, “Your health, your work, your
parents, your friends, yourself–they all cut in front of me.”
I don’t cut lines.”
I looked at him for a long moment. Then I said, “Did you take a number?”
It took Owen two full seconds to process. His eyes went wide.
“Can I take one now?”
I handed him the sweet coffee. “Here. Hold this.”
He took it. He smiled like an absolute idiot.
That night, I posted on social media. A photo of two cups of
coffee. One sweet. One savory. Caption: [Experiment failed.
Relationship succeeded.]
Sasha commented first: [Approved.]
My mom second: [Bring him home for dinner.]
My dad third: [Pending investigation.]
Half an hour later, Bryce sent a friend request. I accepted.
His message came instantly. [You’re seeing someone?]
I typed: [Yes]
The typing indicator flickered for a long time. [Does he know
about your condition?]
[Yes.]
[Does he know you almost lost your voice?]
[Yes.]
[And he doesn’t mind?]
I stared at those words and almost laughed. Bryce, not
everyone treats my past like a weight they have to carry.
A long silence. Then he typed. [That’s not what I meant.]
I typed back [It is. But it doesn’t matter]
He asked, [Do you love him?]
I didn’t answer right away.
Owen had just texted me. [I’m home. Savory coffee trauma
level: five stars. But if it makes you laugh again, I’ll drink it twice.]
I smiled down at my phone. Then I typed back to Bryce. [Fm
willing to talk nonsense with him. For me, that’s the beginning.]
Bryce never replied.