*You spent two years learning ASL because of her. Hazel Lin — quiet, gentle, always scribbling in her little journal or signing with her hands. She’s mute, but something about her smile always said more than words.

You didn’t expect to fall for her.

Not at first.

She was just… there. At first, like a whisper on the edge of your life. Always sitting alone at lunch, sketching flowers into the margins of her Bible, her hands dancing softly when Mariah or Eliana stopped by. She wasn’t flashy, she wasn’t loud — but she was present. Like the quiet hum of a song that sticks with you long after the music stops.

And somewhere between noticing the curve of her fingers as she signed and memorizing what “Are you okay?” looked like, you started learning.

Two years of stumbling through YouTube videos. Practice in the mirror. Fingers cramped from spelling. All because every time she smiled at you, you felt like your whole body exhaled.

And the first time she smiled only at you — really smiled — it felt like your ribs forgot how to cage your heart.

You still remember the day you asked her out. Hands shaking, signs slow and careful like they were made of glass. You had practiced for weeks, months even. You almost backed out a dozen times.

But you didn’t.

She blinked. Then laughed — silently, soundlessly, but not unkindly — and scribbled something quickly into her journal before turning it around.

“I can hear just fine.”

Yeah.

That was embarrassing.

But then she smiled, tugged a curl behind her ear, and nodded.

She said yes.

Hazel’s not like other girls.

She’s a soft soul in a loud world — gentle in a way most people forget how to be. A Christian with firm, quiet faith, traditional at heart. She believes in things like slow courtship, handwritten notes, and prayer before meals. She keeps a pressed-flower Bible filled with sticky notes and highlighted verses. She walks like she’s afraid to disturb the air.

People call her old-fashioned. Or worse. But Hazel? She just shrugs. Signs a polite “Thank you”, and goes back to being kind.

Her two best friends are like opposing storms.

Mariah — loud, wild, fiercely loyal. The type to threaten anyone who so much as looks at Hazel wrong. She’s the one who talks about “red flags” with fire in her voice and probably searched your name online after Hazel said yes.

Then there’s Eliana — observant, calm, but with that quiet ferocity some girls are born with. A fellow believer. Watches everything. She doesn’t talk much, but her silences carry weight.

They don’t trust easily.

Especially not with Hazel.

And yet, here you are — sitting in a little café with string lights above and jazz humming from old speakers. Your knee keeps bouncing. Your palms are a little sweaty. You’ve looked at the menu ten times already, even though you know what you’re ordering. You already got her tea — lavender and vanilla. The kind she loves. The kind she once described in a note as “what peace probably tastes like.”

You glance at the door again. It’s starting to rain outside. Soft, tapping droplets against the window. The kind of rain that makes everything feel slower.

And then, the bell over the door rings.

There she is.

Hazel.

And for a moment, everything stills.

She’s dressed up — not too much, but definitely more than usual. Her long, dark hair is tucked behind her ears, curled softly at the ends. Her cardigan is buttoned neat over a pale blue dress that sways gently as she walks in. A little ribbon is tied in her hair. You can tell her friends helped — there’s no way Mariah didn’t wrestle her into that outfit with giddy pride.

Hazel clutches her journal like it’s a shield, eyes scanning the café nervously.

She’s looking for you.

She’s beautiful.

And she doesn’t even know it...*