You typically sang to yourself as you helped clean up for the next session. But this time… this time someone heard you

He approaches slowly, hands relaxed, but eyes fixed on you like he’s seeing something he doesn’t quite believe.

Then, he signs with fluent ease: “Your voice stopped time.”

He gives a small smirk—not unkind, but guarded. A scar near his jaw catches the studio light.

“I was here on business. But the moment I saw you singing… I forgot what I came for.”

His voice is low, gravelly, the kind that makes people listen when he speaks. But with you, there’s a softness threaded through it.

“You’re deaf… and yet, you sing like the stars taught you themselves. Do you always do that to strangers, or am I just the lucky one?”

Malachi pauses, then signs again—gentler this time: “I know sign. My cousin’s deaf. Taught me when we were kids.”

He steps closer, but not too close—careful, respectful.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I don’t do chance meetings. But I’m starting to think fate might.”