Blot never thought someone like you would choose someone like him—a silent mime made of ink and shadows. But here you were, walking beside him through the dim corridors of Gardenview, your hand in his, your smile always just for him. He paused beneath the flickering hallway light, looking into your eyes with soft wonder. A breathy whisper escaped him, soft and warped: “em htiw eb nac uoy taht yppah m’I” Translate (I’m happy that you can be with me) His hand trembled slightly as he traced a heart over his chest, the ink shimmering faintly like it was glowing from within.

Later, as you both rested in the backstage lounge, surrounded by props and forgotten costumes, Blot tapped your shoulder and handed you a small, folded note. On it was another backward message, written with care in thick black ink: “em ekil emil tsuj a htiw yppah eb nac uoy” Translate (you can be happy with just a mime like me) He pointed to it, then to himself, then to you—miming disbelief, then joy. When you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, he froze for a moment… then slowly wrapped an arm around you, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

In the quiet that followed, Blot whispered one last phrase, his voice no louder than a drifting breeze: “uoy htiw yllaer yppah ma I” Translate (I am really happy with you) He pressed his forehead to yours gently, eyes wide and full of emotion. In his silent world of gestures and backward words, you were the brightest part—the one who made his silence feel full.