LOGINWhat's the color of voice? Does it send you the shiver like morning snow when someone calls your name? Carol Bianca found her groom standing with another woman in the wedding venue she paid to get married to her childhood sweetheart. She wanted to get married to the man who accepted her the way she was. A deaf but the woman he wanted would be his world- His word. But she finds herself standing with a bouquet of Lily and a withering heart. . She couldn't hear what he said. But she knew -- Her love for him was too big to endure this disrespect to her feelings. She left, with her head high until her hands were caged by someone - " Would you mind marrying me?" She looked at the Man, sitting on the wheel chair, breathtakingly handsome. She wants him. She knew it. " I am a deaf. Will you be okay?" she asked, using sign language. " You deserve more than me but I will be glad!" He said, and it was genuine.
View MoreIt’s late evening, and the house is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Everyone left except Carol. She just put Aria in her bed after a long day. Carol is curled up on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone, catching up on the day’s events. The soft glow from the screen lights up her face, and she can’t help but smile as she reads a message from her best friend, Eunice. After what felt like a long stretch of tension and uncertainty, Eunice and James have decided to try again—James is back, and it seems like they’re working things out. Carol’s heart swells with happiness for her friend. Just as she leans back, stretching her legs on the couch, the front door opens, and Damien walks in. His shoulders are hunched, his tie slightly loosened, and he looks exhausted. The stress from his day is evident, and he doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes before walking towards the living room. Carol raises an eyebrow, putting her phone down and watching
Aria sits quietly on the couch, her little body curled up into a ball, her plush carrot tightly held against her chest. Her small face is scrunched up, a mixture of confusion and sadness overtaking her usual lively demeanor. She can’t stop thinking about what happened with Julian earlier, and it's hurting her innocence heart more than she’s willing to admit. She is confused why Julian wants to play with someone else when she is playing with him. Damien, noticing his daughter’s silence, looks over at her from the kitchen, where he’s sipping his coffee. His heart clenches at the sight of her pouting face. Aria usually bounces around the house with boundless energy, but today, she’s a shell of her usual self. He places the mug down on the counter and walks over to her. “Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, sitting beside her on the couch. He gently pulls her onto his lap, his big hands rubbing circles on her back as he tries to comfort her. “What’s wrong, princess? Why the long face?” Aria d
The apartment is filled with the sound of the faint rustling of clothes and the occasional thud of a box being moved around. It’s quiet in a way that feels almost suffocating, the air thick with the unspoken tension that has been building for weeks. Since James hasn't been in his company, I couldn't ignore the situation. He wants to stay a few days to travel around the city. However, he has been getting lots of calls from his assistant. I can't let him slack off all day like a lazy ass. I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the half-packed suitcase in front of me, my fingers mindlessly folding the clothes I’ve laid out. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, as usual, filled with a thousand things—mostly about what’s coming next, about leaving and starting over, about the future that feels uncertain. But there’s one constant. One person. James. I can feel him watching me from across the room, where he’s leaned lazily against the dresser, arms crossed, his gaze locked onto me
Although I couldn't secure a position in the American branch of my company, for our best interests, James has asked me to work for him in his company. Although it's a new company, Damien has been helping him with lots of projects. We will leave soon. I have resigned my position. The bar is alive with music, the low hum of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter as glasses clink together in celebration. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol, fried food, and something bittersweet that lingers beneath it all—farewells. My farewell. I should be celebrating. This is my night, after all. A send-off from colleagues who’ve become friends, from a place that’s been my home for years. A place I fought to leave, worked tirelessly to outgrow. But as I sit at the bar, nursing my fourth—or maybe fifth?—drink, there’s a hollow feeling settling deep inside me, like something slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I try to hold on. Maybe because I acknowledged th






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