Loving You In Slience

A voice Between us

Chapter Nine: A Voice Between Us

It started with a whisper.

A night like any other—Elena wrapped in a hoodie, her bare feet tucked beneath her on Aiden’s dorm bed, sketchbook in her lap. He was reading her latest entry in Loving You in Silence, pausing every few pages to kiss the side of her hand or brush her hair behind her ear.

But this time, as he turned a page, Elena reached out, took the sketchbook from him, and set it aside.

She pulled out her phone instead, tapped open her notes app, and wrote:

"I want to try something."

Aiden looked at her curiously. "Try what?"

She hesitated. Her fingers moved slowly.

"Talking."

He blinked. "Talking? Like—speaking?"

She nodded.

Aiden sat up straighter. "Are you sure? I mean… you don’t have to."

She smiled, small but firm. Then she tapped her chest twice—me—and brought her fingertips outward—want.

He nodded, watching her closely.

She took a deep breath.

Her lips parted, and a sound came out. It was faint, shaky, more air than voice, but it was real.

“Ah… Ai…” she tried.

Aiden’s breath caught.

She tried again, face tightening with effort. “A… Aii…”

"Elena," he whispered, gently reaching for her hand. "You don’t have to push yourself. I hear you already. Always."

She shook her head. Then she wrote:

"I want you to hear me."

She tried again.

“Ai…den.”

It was broken. Barely there. But it was his name. And she had said it.

His eyes welled. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers.

"You just gave me the best sound I’ve ever heard."

---

They began practicing.

Not every day. Not even every week. Sometimes, she would go for days without trying. Her voice was still weak, her throat strained after just a few words. But the fact that she was willing—that she wanted to try—changed everything.

With help from a gentle-voiced speech therapist on campus and support from Aiden, Elena started forming vowels, then consonants. Some days, she made progress. Others, she cried from frustration.

But Aiden never stopped encouraging her.

He learned to read her lips. He sat with her during long stretches of silence, never asking more than she could give. And when she did speak—a word, a phrase, even a soft hum—he reacted like she’d moved mountains.

One evening, while walking along the riverbank, she pointed to a blue wildflower and whispered, "Pretty."

He beamed. "Yes. But not as pretty as you."

She rolled her eyes, cheeks pink.

He laughed. "Still hate compliments, huh?"

She nodded.

"Tough luck," he said. "You’re going to get a lot more."

---

One rainy Sunday, Elena invited Aiden to meet her mother properly.

They’d exchanged polite greetings in the past, but this was different. This was real. This was her opening the door to the person who raised her—the person who had sat by her hospital bed for months after the fire, watching her fight through silence.

Her mother welcomed him with a warm smile, but wary eyes.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, as she stirred tea in the kitchen. “Even before you left. And even after.”

Aiden nodded, suddenly nervous. “I care about her. A lot. I just want to do right by her.”

Elena, sitting on the couch nearby, watched quietly. Her hands rested in her lap.

Her mother placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Aiden. “Words are cheap, you know. Especially for someone who’s already been through so much without them.”

Aiden looked over at Elena. She gave a small nod—she wanted him to answer honestly.

“I used to think words were everything,” he said. “But she taught me that sometimes silence means more. That love isn’t in how loud you shout it—it’s in how you show it. I’m not perfect, ma’am. But I’m staying. I won’t run again.”

Her mother studied him for a long time.

Then she turned to Elena. “Is that true?”

Elena smiled and signed: He stayed.

Her mother exhaled. A long, deep breath. Then she gave Aiden a real smile.

“Good. That’s all I need to know.”

---

Summer faded into fall.

Elena’s speech improved slowly. Her voice remained soft, but it gained strength. She could say full sentences now—short, but whole. And though she still preferred to sign or write, her eyes shone each time Aiden responded to her voice.

On their one-year anniversary, he took her back to the rooftop.

They laid out a blanket, ordered her favorite takeout, and watched the stars like they used to.

“I have something for you,” Aiden said.

She raised an eyebrow.

He pulled out a small velvet box.

Her eyes widened.

“Not a ring,” he said quickly, grinning. “Not yet.”

She laughed.

Inside was a delicate gold necklace. A tiny charm in the shape of a speech bubble, engraved with a single word:

“Still.”

She looked at him, confused.

He explained: “Still loving you. Still staying. Still here. No matter what.”

Her throat tightened. She whispered, “Still mine?”

He leaned in.

“Always.”The days that followed Aiden’s return were like learning to breathe again.

Everything felt lighter. Brighter. Elena smiled more. Drew more. Her steps had a rhythm again, a subtle bounce that hadn’t been there for months. She didn’t realize how much of herself she’d buried until he unearthed it simply by being near.

They fell back into old patterns with ease—passing notes, quiet library afternoons, shared meals beneath the elm trees. But there were new things too. New habits. New touches. Now Aiden reached for her hand without hesitation. Now Elena didn’t flinch when people looked at them.

They were no longer hiding.

One morning, while sitting under a canopy of soft pink blossoms, Aiden pulled out his phone and opened an app.

"I’ve been practicing," he said. "Watch this."

He lifted his hands and signed: You are my favorite chapter.

Elena’s eyes widened.

She clapped, grinning, then signed back: Still needs work. But... you’re getting better.

"Better than Marcus," Aiden said proudly. "He tried to learn and gave up after five minutes."

Elena laughed, soundless but radiant.

Aiden leaned closer. "I want to be fluent someday. So I can talk to you even when you're not looking."

Her smile faltered for a moment. Then she touched her fingers to her lips and to his cheek. A silent thank you.

---

But not every day was perfect.

Sometimes, the silence still hurt. Sometimes, Elena felt the weight of words she could never say aloud. Sometimes, Aiden grew quiet, staring off into space, fighting battles she couldn’t see.

One evening, she found him sitting alone on the rooftop. His hands were clenched, his jaw tight.

She approached slowly and sat beside him.

He didn’t look at her. "My dad called today. Said I’m wasting my future. That I threw everything away for a girl who can’t even talk."

The words cut deep. Deeper than she expected.

Her heart clenched.

Aiden shook his head. "I told him to go to hell. But it still stings, you know? How he sees you. How he sees me."

Elena took a deep breath. She reached for her journal and wrote:

"You didn’t throw anything away. You chose something real. Something most people never find."

He read it. Then looked at her. "Sometimes I wonder if we’ll make it. If this—us—is strong enough."

She signed slowly: We’re already making it. One day at a time.

He leaned in, forehead resting against hers.

"Promise me something," he whispered.

What?

"Promise me you’ll keep choosing me. Even when it gets hard. Even if I screw up again."

She nodded, then wrote beneath his hand:

"Only if you promise the same."

He smiled. "Deal."

---

Final exams came and went. Spring melted into early summer. The campus emptied slowly, students heading home or off to internships. But Elena stayed.

So did Aiden.

They took part-time jobs at a local bookstore. They explored the sleepy town in the early hours of the morning, hand in hand, sipping iced tea, drawing in cafes.

One day, they visited the art museum in the next city. Elena moved through the gallery like she was gliding, eyes drinking in every brushstroke. Aiden followed, watching her instead of the paintings.

In front of a piece called The Silent Muse, she paused.

A woman in profile. Eyes closed. Mouth parted slightly, as if caught between breath and confession. The colors were muted, almost ghostly.

Elena stood still for a long time.

Aiden finally asked, "What do you see?"

She wrote:

"I see someone who is both lost and found. Like she’s waiting for someone to hear what she’s never said."

He looked at the painting again.

"I hear you, El," he said quietly.

She reached for his hand.

And he held it like he never intended to let go.

---

By the end of summer, their bond was unshakable.

Elena had started a personal project—an illustrated journal called Loving You in Silence. Aiden was the first to read it. Page after page told their story: their first note, their rooftop nights, their long-distance pain, his return.

She left space for future pages. Pages yet to be lived.

When he reached the last page, it said only:

"We may not be perfect. But we are real. And real is enough."

He looked at her, eyes glassy.

"I want to be in every page you write from now on."

She didn’t write a reply.

She just pulled him close and kissed him until the stars came out.

Their love was quiet.

But it spoke louder than words ever could.The sky was bleeding orange when Elena first saw him again.

She was walking home from the art studio, sketchbook tucked under her arm, her earbuds in, a soft instrumental melody keeping her company. She wasn’t expecting him. Not here. Not now. Not ever again in the middle of a Wednesday.

But there he was.

Aiden.

Standing on the other side of the street like a ghost from a better dream. His hair was longer. He looked a little leaner, a little older. And he was watching her like he was trying to memorize her face all over again.

She froze.

He smiled.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t confident. It was small and hopeful and just a little broken.

She didn’t move.

He crossed the street slowly, backpack slung over his shoulder, like he’d been walking for miles. When he was a step away, he stopped. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t speak yet. He just looked at her.

"Hi," he said softly.

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She shook her head, wiped at them, frustrated.

"I know," he said. "I should’ve called. But I wanted to surprise you. And… I didn’t think I could wait anymore."

She opened her sketchbook and wrote, her hand trembling:

"Why now?"

He took a deep breath.

"Because I realized that every good thing in my life started with you. And everything after felt like a countdown. I thought I could handle the distance. I thought ambition was more important. But nothing compares to this—being here, with you."

She stared at him, expression unreadable.

"I transferred back," he added. "Talked to the dean. Had to fight my dad. But I’m staying. For good."

Elena's breath caught. Her hands flew as she signed, quickly, passionately.

Are you serious?

He nodded.

You came back... for me?

"For you. For me. For us."

Her sketchbook dropped. Her arms flung around his neck, and he held her tighter than he ever had.

He whispered into her hair, "God, I missed you."

She pulled back and kissed him—fierce and fast and full of the pain of months apart.

---

Later, they sat on the rooftop again. The sky was turning navy, stars peeking through the dusk.

Aiden was holding her hand, fingers laced tightly. Her head rested on his shoulder.

"You never stopped drawing, did you?" he asked.

She shook her head. Then pulled her sketchbook into her lap.

She flipped through pages—his smile, his eyes, his silhouette walking away. And then, a page unlike the others.

It was blank.

"What’s this one?" he asked.

She signed slowly: This one was waiting.

He reached for her pencil.

"Then let’s draw something together."

She smiled, and they began to sketch side by side, two hands moving as one.

They didn’t need words.

They never did.Three months had passed since Aiden left.

Winter had melted into the early breath of spring, and Cresthill’s campus was beginning to blush with green. Students were shedding their heavy jackets, and the air was thick with anticipation—for finals, for summer, for change.

But for Elena, everything still felt frozen.

She had returned to her routine—the quiet corners of the library, her favorite seat near the west-facing window, the comfort of pencil on paper. But the world had lost its color. Even her drawings were duller now—shadows without depth, smiles without spark.

Aiden had called, at first. Sent messages. Emails. Videos of the beach. Of his new dorm. A bookstore he thought she’d love. But over time, the messages came less often. The calls grew shorter. She never blamed him—not truly. Distance wasn’t easy. But it hurt all the same.

Still, she never stopped writing to him.

Each day, she wrote a letter. She never mailed them, just folded each one and tucked it into a small wooden box she kept beneath her bed. It was almost a ritual. Each page held the words she couldn’t say aloud. Some were filled with longing. Others with anger. Some were just blank pages she pressed her fingertips to, as if he might feel her from wherever he was.

One letter read:

> “Dear Aiden,

Today, I passed the music room and heard someone singing a song I think you would’ve made fun of. I laughed. It scared me—how laughing without you feels like betrayal.

But I laughed anyway.”

Another said:

> “Dear Aiden,

I dreamt of the rooftop again. You were painting the sky with your hands. I was watching, holding the stars in a jar. When I woke up, my pillow was wet.”

And another:

> “Dear Aiden,

Are you forgetting me?”

---

One Sunday morning, Elena’s mother knocked gently on her door.

"There’s mail for you."

Elena tilted her head. She didn’t get mail. But when she saw the envelope, her heart skipped. Her name was scrawled in familiar handwriting.

Inside was a single page:

> “El,

Sorry I’ve been distant. Things have been crazy here. Classes are harder than I expected. My dad’s been breathing down my neck. I miss you.

I know that’s not enough. I don’t know how to say it better. I miss you in a way that hurts.

I’ll call soon. I promise.

—A”

She held the letter against her chest. It was small. It was late. But it was something.

That night, she didn’t write a letter.

She just stared at the ceiling, whispering his name to the quiet.The days that followed were painted in uncertainty.

Aiden didn’t sit at their table the next afternoon. Or the one after that. Elena waited, her sketchbook open, her pencil idle between her fingers. She told herself she wasn’t waiting, but every time the library door creaked open, her heart betrayed her.

It had been three days since he told her. Three days since the rain fell on both of them like judgment. She hadn’t told her mother, hadn’t even drawn much. Her world—once small, but full of warmth—suddenly felt colder than ever.

She didn’t know if he had made a decision. If the transfer was happening. If she would ever get to say goodbye properly.

But on the fourth day, he returned.

He walked in slowly, his steps hesitant, and his eyes found hers instantly. There were shadows beneath them, like he hadn’t slept. Like he’d been carrying the same weight she had.

She didn’t smile. Neither did he.

He sat across from her and pulled out a small stack of notes he hadn’t given her. One by one, he laid them on the table, each folded with the same neat care. She stared at them without reaching.

Finally, he wrote:

"I needed time. I didn’t want to come back and lie."

She wrote back:

"Are you going?"

He hesitated.

"They’re pushing for it. My dad already filed transfer papers. It’s a better school, better connections, better future."

Her fingers tightened around her pencil.

"But it’s not better for me."

He looked up. There was something raw in his expression now.

"I don’t want to leave you, Elena. That’s the truth. I don’t want to lose what we have."

She blinked, rapidly. Her hand moved.

"Then don’t."

He leaned forward, frustration slipping into his features.

"It’s not that easy. My dad’s invested in this. He thinks I’m wasting potential here. That I’m distracted."

Her brows furrowed.

"Am I a distraction to you?"

He looked stunned. Then slowly, he shook his head.

"You’re the only real thing I’ve had in a long time."

The library was too quiet for their storm, and so, they took their conversation elsewhere. The walk through Cresthill’s courtyard was quiet but charged. They didn’t hold hands this time.

---

They ended up on the rooftop of the old art building. It was a place only Elena knew—a place she went to draw when the walls felt too close.

The sky stretched endlessly above them, heavy with clouds, just like their hearts.

"My mom doesn’t know about you," Aiden said, sitting against the brick wall. "Neither does my dad. I don’t tell them much. They don’t listen anyway."

Elena sat beside him, pulling her knees to her chest. She handed him her sketchbook.

On the page was a drawing of him, looking out a window, headphones around his neck, a storm outside. He was smiling—but barely.

"Is that how you see me?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then I must really be a mess."

She shook her head and pointed to the sky in the picture.

"You always see light," she wrote beneath the drawing.

He was quiet for a long time. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:

"I wish I could see it now."

---

The following days were a delicate balance of routine and rupture. Aiden showed up more, but not every day. Elena pretended not to notice how his smiles took longer to reach his eyes. She filled her sketchbook with fragments of them—his hands, his laugh, the slope of his shoulder when he leaned in close.

Their time was running out.

Everyone around them was preparing for exams, deadlines, final presentations. But Elena and Aiden were counting moments.

One afternoon, he brought her a gift.

A charm bracelet. Simple. Silver. On it, a tiny book charm, and beside it, a miniature pencil.

He placed it in her palm.

"So you remember," he said. "So you know I never forgot."

She touched it gently, then pulled him into a hug. A silent one. One that said all the things she couldn’t.

---

The last week came like a tidal wave.

She tried to be brave. Tried not to show the ache in her eyes when he talked about packing. About how his dad had already booked the flight. How his new dorm was closer to the coast. How he’d send her pictures of the ocean.

She didn’t want pictures.

She wanted him here.

On their last day, they met at the rooftop again. The sky was clear this time, stars blinking softly overhead.

"Say something," he said.

She opened her journal, hands shaking.

"If I could scream, I would scream your name until it echoes through every hallway. If I could sing, I’d write songs that only your heart could understand. But all I can do is draw you. Love you silently. And hope you’ll still hear me even when you’re gone."

He closed the notebook, gently.

"I will. I promise I will."

He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear.

And then he kissed her.

It was slow. Careful. Soft. A moment suspended in the night air.

When it ended, they stood forehead to forehead.

"You were never a distraction, Elena," he whispered. "You were the reason I stayed this long."

She signed with trembling fingers: I love you.

His breath caught. Then he signed it back.

I love you too.