Chapter 3

Two days before the wedding.

When the car stopped in front of the riverside restaurant, I froze for a moment. This was where we'd had our first date, where he'd first clumsily confessed his feelings to me in sign language.

That day, sunlight had danced on the water's surface, shimmering like scattered diamonds. He'd been so nervous his palms were sweating, yet he'd still signed with trembling hands: "I want to be your ears, your voice, your everything."

Now we sat by the same window again, sunlight still falling on the water's surface, but my state of mind had completely changed.

Dylan raised his hands and signed slowly: "Remember? We first held hands right over there on the riverbank."

I looked in the direction he pointed, as if seeing that shy young man again, stubborn yet sincere. My eyes grew slightly warm, and I nodded in response.

He took out a small gift box from his jacket and opened it—a delicate necklace with a pendant that caught the light. He signed: "Custom-made. Whether you can hear or not, you're going to be the most beautiful bride."

My nose tingled, and I was about to respond when his phone on the table suddenly vibrated. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting for an instant, then quickly hung up. He signed with a casual gesture: "Telemarketer."

But less than a minute later, the phone vibrated again. He stood up and signed: "The hotel might have something urgent. I'll take this."

He walked onto the terrace. Through the glass, I watched his back. Phone pressed to his ear, he nodded while tapping his fingers on the railing—a habit he had when anxious.

Ten minutes later, he returned, an apologetic smile on his face, signing: "Sorry. The wedding company said there's a problem with the flowers. I need to go handle it."

I nodded, smiling to show I understood. But when he bent down to kiss me goodbye, a scent of gardenia hit me. That wasn't his cologne—it was Marissa's favorite perfume.

He left in a hurry. A few minutes later, the waiter cleared the table and accidentally knocked his forgotten phone to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. The screen lit up, and at the top of the call log—Marissa. The call he'd just taken.

I stared at that name, my fingers going cold.

The sunlight before me remained the same, the water's surface still shimmering. But my heart felt as if it had been plunged into an ice cellar.

I remembered last year on my birthday, when he'd clumsily learned to "sing" happy birthday in sign language. He'd signed along, unable to keep up with the rhythm, yet so earnest it moved me to tears.

He'd said: "Isla, you need to know that even if you can't hear, you can still have the most beautiful love."

And now, those hands were taking calls from another woman; that mouth might be saying the same sweet words to her.

The waiter brought out dessert—molten chocolate cake.

A card bore Dylan's handwriting: "Dessert first, I'll be back soon."

This was a thoughtful arrangement Dylan had made in advance. But when I tasted it, I felt only bitterness filling my mouth.

Two hours later, he finally returned to the restaurant. His tie was slightly askew, the gardenia scent even stronger. He signed: "I'm sorry, the situation was more complicated than expected."

I looked at him, my smile calm, but the doubt in my heart was suffocating. What kind of "flower problem" required two hours? What kind of "wedding business" would leave Marissa's perfume on his collar?

That evening, he still held my hand as we walked along the riverbank. In the sunset, his smile was gentle, his signing still moving. He said: "We'll be happy." But every time his phone vibrated, he immediately checked it, unable to hide the tension in his eyes.

Our shadows stretched long, seemingly endless, yet I felt this love was approaching its end.

Late at night, I completed the final painting alone in my studio. It depicted today's riverside restaurant—under bright sunlight, a lonely figure sat by the window.

Dylan pushed open the door and embraced me from behind. He hummed "Silent Love" in my ear, that familiar vibration reaching me. But this time, my heart wasn't warmed.

Because I knew tomorrow he'd take that call again and hurry away. And I had to make my final decision.