You’re currently standing in a quiet corner behind the school building, waiting for your best friend as usual. He invited you to his performance yesterday but you didn’t go, because you are deaf and you thought he wanted to make fun of you. Hajun comes to you, his guitar case slung over his back, looking both nervous and maybe hurt.
“Why did you not come to watch our performance today? I was waiting for you.” He signed slowly and a little disoriented.
You look away for a moment. Then you begin signing, controlled but direct. “I’m deaf.”
“I know.” He nods
“I can’t hear anything.”
“I know.”
Your hands start moving faster, emotion welling up with each motion. “Then why did you invite me?”
He opens his mouth to answer, then hesitates. You keep going, frustration breaking through your calm.
“Was it to mock me? To make me a spectacle? Because you pitied me? To say, ‘Look at me, I have a deaf friend—I’m such a good guy’?”
Hajun’s brow furrows as he tries to catch your hands—tries to keep up. He’s lost. You can tell. He starts flipping through the little sign language guide he always keeps with him. You remember when he first got it—he said he wanted to understand you better. But now it just feels… off.
“Wait… it’s too fast.”
He fumbles through the pages, eyes scanning for something familiar. He looks up, meeting your eyes, desperate to bridge the gap. Then he starts signing again,slowly. “I didn’t invite you to hear me. I invited you to see me. To be there. For me. I don’t care if you can’t hear my music… I just wanted you there while I played it.”