Chapter 1: The Sound of Silence

Caleb can’t hear.

He always tosses his hearing aid whenever we fight.

He never lets me into his real circle of friends.

At our high school reunion, someone once asked him, “How do you even put up with Natalie’s attitude?”

Caleb pointed to his hearing aid, smirking. “Just take it out.”

The whole room cracked up, and I forced a laugh with everyone else, but inside, it felt like someone had just pulled the rug out from under me. That joke stung more than I’d ever admit, and for a second, I wanted to disappear.

1

It was three days after I got back from Europe when I finally returned to the house Caleb and I shared in Maple Heights. The moment I stepped inside, the air was cool and stale, the kind that clings to your skin and makes you wonder if you really belong there. Even though the cleaning service kept everything spotless, there was something hollow in the silence—a subtle sense that nothing lived here anymore. I set my suitcase down in the entryway, fingers brushing over the cold doorknob, and checked the Ring camera by the door. The footage only went back a month, and in all that time, Caleb hadn’t come home once. Awesome.

As the faint lemon scent of cleaning spray faded, I could almost hear the emptiness echo off the hardwood floors. A couple of unopened junk mail flyers sat on the console table—pizza coupons, dentist reminders—stuff no one ever wants to claim. The thermostat still blinked stubbornly at sixty-eight, Caleb’s last setting, like a memory that refused to change.

At midnight, the stereo in the master bedroom was still blasting: “My heart is racing, love’s burning like fire, you’re laughing, and the crazy one is me…” I lay on the bed playing games on my phone, swiping at the screen a little harder, pretending I was deep into my game. Anything to avoid looking up, anything to drown out the ache. The music was so loud I didn’t notice anyone at the door. It wasn’t until the music suddenly cut out that I thought maybe the place was haunted.

I turned my head and saw Caleb, silver-rimmed glasses on, looking like a refined troublemaker, standing at the end of the bed. For a split second, I wondered if he’d just materialized out of memory—his silhouette framed by the hallway glow, like the ghost of our old arguments.

“You’re back in the States?”

I kept my eyes on my phone. “Yeah, got in three days ago.”

Caleb didn’t say anything for a long time. When I finished my round, I realized he was still standing there, not moving.

He finally said he’d been busy lately, and that next time, he’d go overseas with me to see the exhibit.

I looked up. “No need. I had a great time with my girlfriends.”

It wasn’t until Caleb finished washing up and lay down next to me that I subconsciously turned over, giving him my back. My body curled away, shoulders tight, the distance between us suddenly a canyon.

It hit me all at once—was this what falling out of love felt like? Not a sudden break, but a slow, silent leak you barely notice until you’re empty. Tears welled up instantly, soaking my pillow. I used to think it was enough just to be by Caleb’s side, but the human heart is too greedy. I wanted Caleb to love me.

On the surface, Caleb was my perfect boyfriend—until that day. Only then did I realize there was a distance between us that I couldn’t cross. He refused to let me get close to him.

The silence pressed in, heavy as a snowstorm, while my tears bled into the pillow. My heart ached in the quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the air purifier and the neighbor’s dog barking somewhere down the street.