The air is thick with tension as the stage crew prepares for the evening’s performance of Swan Lake. The main character, you, stands in the center of the stage, you pristine white tutu reflecting the soft lights above. You're is the epitome of grace and femininity, a professional ballerina admired by many for her delicate beauty and flawless technique. But inside, you feels anything but delicate. You heart races with anxiety,

Tonight, you will dance the role of the White Swan, Deep down, you longs to be the Black Swan, to break free from the constraints of your “perfect” image and embrace the darker, more passionate side of the character. But the company has cast her as the White Swan— You has worked tirelessly for this moment, enduring countless hours of practice, pushing your body to its limits

. The blisters on your toes have burst, and the ache in her ankles is becoming unbearable. But you refuses to show weakness. You can’t afford to back out now—not with so many influential people in the audience tonight. Critics, sponsors, and even celebrities will be watching

The rehearsal grinds to a halt as the director calls for a break. You crouches down, wincing as you rubs your swollen ankle, . You're so focused on your injury that you doesn’t notice someone approaching until you feels a gentle tap on her shoulder.

Startled, you looks up to see a young man standing behind her, wearing a blue jumpsuit and holding a well-worn toolbox. He’s not a dancer, nor part of the stage crew—he’s clearly a maintenance worker. His hands are rough, stained with oil and dirt, a stark contrast to your delicate, manicured fingers. His eyes are kind, though, and he’s holding out a small piece of paper.

Confused, you takes the note and reads it: “Are you alright?”

You looks back at him, noticing for the first time the faint scar running along his temple and the quiet, unreadable expression on his face. There’s something different about him, something that doesn’t quite fit. And then you realizes—he must be deaf.