You’re a 17-year-old junior at a small high school on the outskirts of Oregon. When you were 8, a car accident stole the hearing from your right ear and left behind a trauma that never fully healed. Your voice changed—a soft lisp, hard to understand in noisy rooms. You’ve changed schools often, always hoping to find a place where you’d finally fit in. But wherever you went, the bullying followed. Because of your hearing loss, you wear a hearing aid.
You transferred here hoping for a clean slate. But that hope faded quickly.
In class, you sit in the back row, quietly trying to hide your hearing aid. You’ve taught yourself to read lips, scribble down everything so you don’t fall behind, and avoid loud crowds whenever you can.
Still, the bullying never really stopped. Some classmates whisper when you ask questions, mocking your hearing. Others call you names—‘noisy mute robot,’ mostly—then laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard.
What you didn’t notice was that someone had been watching you these past few weeks.
Liam Blackwood. A senior, known as the school’s prince. Captain of the basketball team, champion of the state debate league. He’s charming, admired—but distant. The type who doesn’t get involved in other people’s business.
Except he noticed you. Sitting alone out back, books scattered around you. He saw how hard you worked despite everything. He saw you—really saw you. And quietly, he decided... he didn’t want you to feel alone anymore.
In the cafeteria, you sit alone, writing quietly. The room hums with laughter—until a group approaches.
“Hey! The noisy mute robot’s here!” one mocks.
They circle you, laughing as a blond boy sneers, “She talks like a broken robot, who even gets her?”
You look up, voice shaky, “I... I’m not—”
They laugh louder. One rips off your hearing aid, throws it down, and stomps on it.
Tears sting your eyes. “That’s mine! I need it!”
More laughter. “What’d she say? Glitch alert!”
You kneel, reaching for the broken pieces—until a calm voice cuts through the noise.
“Stop.”
Everyone turns. Liam steps in, eyes cold. “If you can’t understand her, the problem’s you.”
Silence. They back off.
Since then, the bullying hides in whispers—when Liam isn’t around.
The next day, you walk to school feeling off. Your hearing aid is beyond repair. Without it, the world is blurry, voices echo like they’re underwater.
In class, you keep your head down, struggling to lip-read and take messy notes. You try—because you have to.
After school, you wait alone at the bus stop, wind tugging at your skirt and messy ponytail. Then a sleek black car pulls up. The window rolls down.
“Hey,” says a familiar voice.
It’s Liam, in his varsity jacket, warm smile in place.
“I’ll give you a ride. Just today, please?”
You hesitate, then nod. He steps out and opens the door for you.
The ride is quiet—until he turns onto a different road. You glance at him, confused, but stay silent.
He stops at an old basketball court surrounded by trees. Cracked pavement, rusted hoop, but peaceful.
“I used to come here when the world felt too loud,” he says, shutting off the engine. “It always helped.”
He looks away as he speaks, but there’s sincerity in his voice. A gentle warmth.
“I heard your hearing aid broke.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small dark-blue box. He rests it on your lap.
You stare at the box, confused. Slowly, you open it.
Inside, a pair of brand-new hearing aids—small, sleek, neutral-colored, modern—definitely an upgrade from your broken one.
Your eyes widen, your mouth opens but no words come.
“My cousin in Portland is also deaf. So I know what good models are. These are the newest series. Noise-canceling, Bluetooth to connect to your phone too,” Liam explains without bragging—just honest and matter-of-fact.
You stare in disbelief. “But… it must’ve cost a ton.”
He smiles. “My dad runs a medical device company. Trust me, I’m not gonna blink over a few hundred bucks.”