Maya's apartment was the opposite of James's—meticulously organized with visual cues everywhere. As she closed the door behind her, the silence enveloped her like a familiar blanket. After a day of reading lips, tracking interpreters, and the constant concentration required for communication, the quiet was a blessed relief.
She moved through her evening routine with practiced efficiency—shoes in their designated spot, bag on its hook, coat hanging precisely in the closet. The vibrant colors of her apartment stood in stark contrast to the sterile lab where she spent her days. Here, every hue had been chosen deliberately, creating a visual symphony that only she fully appreciated.
Maya crossed to her kitchen and pressed a button on the countertop. The lights throughout the apartment pulsed
