Five years ago, to save Julian Vance from a raging fire, my head was struck by a falling wooden beam. When I finally woke up in the hospital, a hideous scar stretched across my face, and my hearing was completely gone. With tears in his eyes, Julian took my hand and slowly traced a promise onto my palm, letter by letter: "I will love you forever." From that day on, Julian became my ears. On my twenty-fourth birthday, he proposed to me in front of all our friends and family. Everyone whispered behind his back, wondering why a brilliant, rising star in the medical field would want to marry a disfigured, deaf girl. But Julian never seemed to care about my scars. He was always patient, gently guiding me through my slow, awkward attempts to communicate. Until a new intern arrived at his hospital. Julian started working late. His night shifts doubled. And for the first time, he avoided looking at my face. "I’m sorry, Iris," he whispered one night, his eyes darting away. "Your scars... they look like writhing monsters. They terrify me." I read his lips perfectly. To make things easier for him, I voluntarily agreed to move to a rehabilitation clinic in the suburbs. But fate was cruel. Shortly after I arrived, the clinic’s outdated wiring sparked a massive electrical fire. Trapped in the thick, black smoke, my last memory was seeing a panicked figure rushing into the flames. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the exact day Julian proposed to me.
The stinging scent of smoke still lingered in my nose, and my throat burned. But as my vision cleared, I didn’t see the ceiling of the rehabilitation clinic. Instead, I was looking directly into Julian’s deeply affectionate eyes. He was wearing a tailored white suit, kneeling on one knee, holding a sparkling diamond ring. I looked around at the cheering crowd of friends and family, and then at the birthday cake on the table. I realized, with a jolt, that I had traveled back in time. Back to the exact moment he proposed. Julian took my hand, his fingers warm, and slowly traced the words onto my palm: "Iris, marry me. Let me be your ears forever. Let me take care of you." The sensation on my skin was so warm it made my heart ache. In my past life, I had replayed this moment a thousand times in my head. On those cold, lonely nights when he ignored me, I used the memory of this warmth to keep myself going. But now, that same touch felt like boiling oil, scorching my skin. A flash of confusion crossed Julian’s eyes. Seeing that I wasn’t reacting the way he expected, he grew anxious. He leaned closer, exaggerating his lip movements so I could read them, and silently mouthed, "Iris, I love you." I understood him perfectly. The room fell silent. Everyone was waiting for my answer. "Forever?" What a joke. Five years was all it took for everything to fall apart. In my past life, I had nodded frantically, throwing myself into his arms with tears streaming down my face. Only to end up in a years-long nightmare. A nightmare that ended with his averted eyes and his cruel admission of fear. I looked into his eyes. Once, they were filled with genuine pain and guilt for what had happened to me. Now, I could see right through the carefully masked devotion. That was it. Right now, his guilt far outweighed his love. That guilt had crushed him, and ultimately, it had killed me. I didn’t say a word. I just slowly, deliberately, pulled my hand away. The smile on Julian’s face froze. A collective gasp and a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. "Iris?" He mouthed my name, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. I shook my head. I pointed to my ears, then to my heart. Then, I forced myself to speak. "I’m sorry, Julian." "But I can hear you." This was the first time I had spoken in front of so many people since I lost my hearing. I hadn’t spoken in years. Because I couldn’t hear my own voice, I couldn't control my volume, and I was terrified of being laughed at. Julian had always told me that as long as he was around, I didn't need to struggle to speak. He promised to be my voice. But now, I didn't want him to be. The room became dead silent. Everyone knew I was deaf. For a deaf girl to suddenly say she could "hear" sounded like a bad joke. But Julian understood what I meant. The color drained from his face. "I can hear the voice in my heart," I said, my words slow, quiet, but incredibly clear. "It says I shouldn't chain you to me out of guilt." "Let’s call this off."
Julian stood frozen, as if he couldn't process my words. Or rather, he refused to. He reached out again, trying to grab my wrist, but I lightly stepped back, avoiding his touch. The whispers around us grew louder. "What did she just say? She can hear?" "How is that possible? Hasn't she been deaf for years?" "Did Julian pressure her too hard? Is she having a breakdown?" Julian’s mother, Eleanor Vance, stepped forward, her brow furrowed. She looked down at me with her usual haughty condescension. "Iris, stop throwing a tantrum. Julian is being completely sincere. With your condition, marrying a man like Julian is a miracle. You should be grateful." In everyone’s eyes, a disfigured, deaf girl marrying a brilliant doctor like Julian Vance was like winning the lottery. If this were my past life, I would have lowered my head in shame and meekly accepted their "charity." But now, I just looked at her and said, "I’m not throwing a tantrum." "I just don't want to marry him anymore." Julian snapped his head up, his eyes instantly turning red. He snatched the microphone from the coordinator's hand. Even though he knew I couldn't hear him, he screamed into it, his voice shaking. "Iris! I know what you’re worried about! I swear, I will never abandon you!" "I don't care about your face! I don't care about your ears!" "Let me take care of you! I owe you my life!" He practically roared that last sentence. The entire venue fell dead silent. "You owe me..." I softly repeated the words, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. Yes, he owed me. For five years, he tried to pay that debt day after day. He did it so carefully, so exhaustingly. Until eventually, even looking at my face took more courage than he had. I raised my hand, my fingertips tracing the uneven, jagged scar on my left cheek. Julian’s gaze followed my fingers. His eyes were a chaotic mess of pity, guilt... and a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch of disgust. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking of Chloe Bennett, the new intern. He was thinking of her flawless, smooth skin. Her bright, sweet voice. He was thinking of the way she looked at him—with pure, unadulterated admiration, free of any burden or guilt. In my past life, it was Chloe’s arrival that made Julian come home later and later. She was the reason his pity turned into terror. I remembered the time Chloe came to our apartment to help Julian retrieve some medical files. When she saw me, a flash of shock crossed her face, quickly replaced by a patronizing pity. "You must be Iris," she had said. I couldn't hear her, but I read her lips. "Julian talks about you all the time. He says you’re so brave." She offered her hand. Because I was focusing so hard on her lips, my reaction was delayed by a few seconds. Her hand hung in the air, and she pulled it back with an awkward, fake chuckle. Julian quickly tried to smooth things over, signing to me: "Chloe says you are very brave." I just nodded. Chloe looked at my face, let out a soft sigh, and whispered something to Julian. Julian’s expression stiffened. He avoided my eyes and mumbled a response. But I had read Chloe’s lips. She had said, "What a shame..." What was a shame? My ruined face? Or was it a shame that Julian, a man with such a bright future, was shackled to a broken woman like me? In that moment, I saw the flash of agreement in Julian’s eyes. From that day on, he rarely brought colleagues home. And he stopped looking at my face. "Julian," I said, making sure my lip movements were clear. "You don't owe me anything anymore." "I ran into that fire of my own free will." "Getting hurt was my own choice." "You don't need to spend the rest of your life paying me back." Without waiting for his response, I turned my back on his pale face, pushed through the crowd, and walked out. Behind me, I could hear Julian’s choked-up cries and his mother's sharp voice trying to stop him. I didn't look back. I reached up and touched my cheek. It was wet and cold. I was crying after all. I cried for the Julian who had once treated me like his entire world. And I cried for the old me, who had loved him so much she died for him.
I moved back into the tiny studio apartment I had owned before the accident. The day after I moved in, the flashing light of my doorbell signaled someone was outside. Looking through the peephole, I saw Chloe Bennett. I hesitated for a moment before opening the door. The moment she saw me, she flashed a bright, apologetic smile. Holding up a beautifully wrapped fruit basket, she mouthe d, "Iris, honey. Sorry to drop by unannounced. I just wanted to check on you." I stepped aside to let her in. The apartment was tiny. You could see everything in one glance. Chloe looked around with curiosity. Her eyes swept over my cheap, simple furniture before landing back on me. "Iris, sweetie, are you sure you’re okay living here all by yourself?" she asked, using slow, clumsy hand gestures. "I’m fine," I replied shortly. "Sigh. Iris, I heard about what happened at the party yesterday." Chloe leaned forward, her face dripping with pity. "Honestly, I get it. Anyone in your position would feel insecure." "It’s completely natural to feel like you aren't good enough for Julian, and that you're just dragging him down." She paused, watching my reaction. Seeing my silence, she continued signing: "But leaving him like that... it’s destroying him. He’s taking it so hard." "He’s a good guy. He feels so responsible for what happened to you. He can’t let it go." "By rejecting him like this, you’re just making him feel more guilty. He's suffering." Her words, delivered through her clumsy signing, felt like a slap in the face. She was reminding me that Julian and I started with a tragedy, and we would always be trapped by it. "So?" I looked up, staring straight at her. "What’s your point?" Chloe didn't expect me to challenge her. She blinked, then quickly forced a sweet, "caring" smile. "So... I think if you really love Julian, you should make a clean break." "A clean break?" I repeated. "Yes," Chloe smiled, her tone dripping with venomous sweetness. "Like... leaving the city? Or maybe telling everyone you found someone else, so he doesn't feel guilty anymore." "That way, Julian can finally move on and start a new life." She let her eyes linger on my scarred face, her implication loud and clear. "Start a new life? With you?" A dull, heavy ache throbbed in my chest. I grabbed a notepad and pen from the table, quickly scribbled a line, and shoved it in front of her. [My life is none of your business, Chloe. Get out.] Then, I pointed to the door. Chloe’s fake smile faltered. Her face flushed with embarrassment. But she didn't argue. She grabbed her designer purse and walked out. I sank onto the couch, exhausted. But this time, I didn't shed a single tear. Over the next few weeks, Julian tried to contact me. First, I found a stack of sticky notes slipped under my door. They were filled with apologies for Chloe’s behavior. I ignored them. Next, he showed up with a jacket I had left at the hotel and a bottle of nerve pain medication. He waited outside my door for an entire day until I finally had to go out. The third time, he was drunk. He banged on my door, sobbing and apologizing over and over. I couldn't hear him, but my neighbors sent me a dozen angry texts on Snapchat. I had no choice but to open the door and drag him inside. He collapsed onto my sofa, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He reached up, trying to touch my face, but I flinched away. His hand froze in mid-air, then fell limply to his side. "Iris..." he whimpered. "Why... why did you throw me away?" "I didn't throw you away," I whispered, knowing he was too drunk to hear me. It was more for myself than him. "We just can't do this anymore." Our gratitude was too heavy, and it crushed our love. Our guilt was too deep, and it poisoned our hearts. He passed out shortly after. I sat beside him, watching his sleeping face. He was still incredibly handsome, but he looked so tired. I took out my notepad and wrote: [Julian, we are over.] [Live your life. You don't owe me anything.] [Please don't come back.] I left the note on the table, grabbed my keys, and quietly shut the door behind me. He deserved a bright, successful life. One without the heavy burden of me.
I walked aimlessly down the streets. Since I lost my hearing, the world had become completely silent. At first, it drove me crazy. But now, it felt safe. At least in the silence, I couldn't hear the pitying whispers or the cruel comments. As I passed a music store, a vintage piano in the window caught my eye. I suddenly remembered that before the fire, I used to play. My mother always told me my fingers were made for the keys. But after the accident, those same fingers were only used for clumsy sign language. Or to feel Julian's promises traced on my palm. I pushed the door open and walked in. The owner, a kind, middle-aged man, smiled and walked over to me. He started speaking, but I pointed to my ears and shook my head. He understood instantly. Smiling warmly, he handed me a notepad and a pen. [Want to try it out?] he wrote. I pointed to the vintage piano. [Go ahead. Give it a play,] he encouraged. I sat down at the piano, placing my fingers on the cool keys. It felt so familiar. I pressed a key. Silence. At least, to my ears. But I could feel the vibration ripple through my fingertips, sending a sweet shiver up my arm. I began to play. It was the opening of Beethoven’s "Pathétique Sonata", Second Movement. Before the fire, it was my favorite piece. Gentle, yet incredibly resilient. Now, I could only play it through memory and the physical vibration of the keys. The owner stood nearby, quietly watching me. When I finished, even though I couldn't hear a thing, I saw him clapping enthusiastically. He quickly wrote on the pad: [That was beautiful. You play with so much soul.] I smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Can a deaf person really play with soul?" Maybe Beethoven could, but I was no genius. [Thank you,] I wrote back, standing up to leave. But the owner stopped me. He wrote: [Would you like a job here? Just light cleaning, organizing sheet music, and playing for customers who want to hear the instruments?] I stared at the note, stunned. [I can tell you love music,] he added. [And it's very quiet here. I think you'd like it.] Looking into his kind, honest eyes, something inside me stirred. Maybe... just maybe, I could start over. On my own. I took the job. My new life at the shop was simple and peaceful. I cleaned, organized, and helped customers. Even though I couldn't hear the tones of the pianos, I memorized the unique characteristics of every model. The owner, Arthur Hayes, was incredibly patient. He never treated me differently because of my scars or my deafness. He only praised my hard work. In my free time, I sat at the vintage piano and practiced. My ears were broken, but my muscle memory was perfect. Arthur told me that watching me play was a joy. [Your fingers are dancing,] he wrote one day. I was genuinely happy. I loved the scent of wood polish in the air, and the solid, grounding feel of the piano keys. Until the day Julian found me. He stood in the doorway, the sunlight casting a long, thin shadow behind him. He had lost a lot of weight. Seeing me at the piano, his eyes filled with a complicated mix of emotions. Arthur looked between us, got the message, and quietly slipped into the back room. Julian walked over and stood by the piano. He reached out to touch my shoulder, but hesitated and pulled his hand back. "Iris," his lips formed my name. I looked up, completely calm. [I’ve been looking for you everywhere,] he wrote on my notepad. His handwriting was messy and rushed. "Okay," I nodded. [Are you... doing well here?] "Very well." He fell silent, his eyes scanning my face. This time, he didn't look away, but I could see the painful struggle in his eyes. [There is nothing going on between me and Chloe,] he wrote quickly, as if desperate to convince me. [She’s just a colleague.] Looking at him, I felt a sudden urge to laugh. "What does it matter now?" Even if it wasn't Chloe, it would have been someone else eventually. The problem was never Chloe. The problem was the crushing weight of his guilt, and the pressure of a duty he never really wanted. The problem was my face—a face even I was afraid to look at. I took the pen and wrote: [Julian, we broke up. Who you spend your time with is none of my business.] He stared at the words, his eyes turning red. [But I can't let you go!] He snatched the pen, writing so hard he nearly ripped the paper. [I tried! I go to work, I perform surgeries, I try to block you out!] [But every time I close my eyes, all I see is you pushing me out of that fire! I see you lying in that hospital bed!] [Iris, I owe you my life! How do you expect me to just move on?!] And there it was. We were right back where we started. Debt. Guilt. He was trapped in a cage of his own making, and I was his only way to earn forgiveness. Now that I had walked away, he was completely lost. I sighed, took the pen, and wrote slowly: [You never owed me a life, Julian.] [I saved you because, in that moment, I wanted you to live.] [That’s all.] [If my sacrifice only brings you pain, then I take it back.] [You are free, Julian.] [And so am I.] My hand shook slightly as I finished writing, but my heart was incredibly light. Julian stared at the page as if all the strength had been drained from his body. He stumbled back a step. He looked at me with a deep, agonizing pain that I no longer cared to understand. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the shop. The glass door swung shut, the wind chimes moving in silence.
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