The Risk Form I Signed Alone, The Wedding I Called Off Chapter 08

The Risk Form I Signed Alone, The Wedding I Called Off Chapter 08

At the annual industry showcase, I won Best Audio Drama Writing. The presenter read my name.

Elara Vance, Unheard.”

The room applauded. I walked onto the stage. In the very back row, I saw Bryce. He’d lost weight. He was clutching that cassette recorder.

I glanced at him once. Then I looked away.

I leaned into the mic. “This project is called Unheard. It’s not here to condemn anyone. It’s here to

tell anyone who needs to hear it: being ignored is not your fault.”

“Don’t waste your life on someone who refuses to listen.”

The room went silent for a beat. Then the applause came louder.

I went on, “I once lost my voice. Later, I realized–losing your voice isn’t the worst thing. The wors thing is giving your voice to someone who doesn’t want to hear it. So I turned my scars into a project. And into a blade.”

The applause swallowed the second half of my sentence.

Bryce sat in his seat. Head bowed. Like he was finally learning how to listen.

After the showcase, a crowd came up to exchange contacts. Owen deflected half of them. “Ms. Vance’s voice is still recovering. One at a time, please.”

Someone teased, “Protecting her like that–are you her boss or her boyfriend?”

Owen’s ears went red. He looked at me. “That depends on whether Ms. Vance wants to promote

me.”

The people around us laughed. I laughed too.

That was when Bryce walked over. Owen stepped half a step

Bryce stopped. “I’m not here to make a scene.”

I said, “Good.”

forward.

He heard my voice. His eyes immediately reddened, “You got it back.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so good.”

He held out the cassette recorder. “This belongs to you.”

I didn’t take it. “I don’t want it anymore.

“Your grandmother’s voice is on it.”

“have backups.”

“This is the original.”

I looked at that recorder. The case had been replaced. The screen had been replaced. It wasn’t the

same object anymore.

I said, “Bryce, some things don’t go back to the way they were just because you fix them.”

His fingers tightened around it. “I know. I just wanted to return it to you myself.”

I took it. Then I turned and handed it to Sasha. “Isn’t the museum looking for vintage recording equipment for that exhibit? Donate it.”

Sasha asked, “For real?”

“Yeah.”

Bryce watched me. It was like something inside him finally snapped clean.

He asked, “Do you hate me at all anymore?”

I thought about it. “No.”

His eyes flickered with something. I added, “And I don’t love you either.”

That flicker died. He dropped his head.

A long moment passed. He said, “Does he treat you right?”

I looked toward Owen.

Owen didn’t interrupt. He just stood there.

I said, “That’s not your business.”

Bryce let out a hollow laugh. “You’re right.”

He stepped back. “Elara, I’m sorry.”

I said, “Alright.”

“Can I wish you well?”

“Sure.”

His voice went hoarse. “Then I hope every word you say from now on lands on someone who

listens.‘

Nightened my grip on my water glass. That sentence was sharp. Not because he meant it to be. But because fate had finally taught him exactly where the knife goes deepest.

I said, “I hope you learn how to listen, too.”

Bryce nodded. He turned and walked away.

He glanced back at the door. I was talking to Owen. “The presenter mispronounced my name,

grumbled.

Owen leaned down to hear me. “I caught that. Called you E–lar–a instead of El–air–a. Like a sci–fi

character.”

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at how he butchered your name.”

“That’s even more rude.”

“I’ll work on that.”

Bryce stood there for a long time.

Later, Sasha told me he’d cried outside the doors.

I didn’t ask about it.

Some tears come too late. They can’t revive something that’s already gone dry.

Owen and I got together in the spring of the following year. Right after a follow–up scan. The doctor said, “Everything looks great. Come back in six months.”

I walked out of the exam room. Owen stood in the hallway holding two cups of coffee. “Sweet or savory?”

I asked, “Savory? Who orders savory coffee?”

“Someone in front of me did. My brain short–circuited.”

I took the sweet one. “So you bought the savory one too?“.

Silence.

I looked down at the other cup in his hand. “You actually bought it.”

“Scientific curiosity,” he said.

He took a sip. His face twisted. “Experiment failed.”

I couldn’t stop laughing.

He looked at me and suddenly said, “Elara, I like you.‘

I stopped.

He immediately tacked on, “Not because you were sick. Not because I want to take care of you. Not

because I think you need someone.”

“I like you because your client feedback is surgically precise.”

“Because you can turn terrible ad copy into something that sounds human.”

“Because you were dead serious when you said that cloud looked like a squashed fish.”

“And because when you laugh, I want to keep saying dumb things.”

I held my coffee. I didn’t say anything.

He stepped back half a pace. “You don’t have to answer now.”

“I can wait in line.”

I asked, “Is there a line?”

“Yep.”

I blinked.

He said, completely serious, “Your health, your work, your parents, your friends, yourself–they

all cut in front of me.”

“I don’t cut lines.”

I looked at him for a long moment. Then I said, “Did you take a number?”

It took Owen two full seconds to process. His eyes went wide. “Can I take one now?”

I handed him the sweet coffee. “Here. Hold this.”

He took it. He smiled like an absolute idiot.

That night, I posted on social media. A photo of two cups of coffee. One sweet. One savory. Caption: [Experiment failed. Relationship succeeded.]

Sasha commented first: [Approved.]

My mom second: [Bring him home for dinner.]

My dad third: [Pending investigation.]

Half an hour later, Bryce sent a friend request. I accepted.

His message came instantly. [You’re seeing someone?]

I typed: [Yes.]

The typing indicator flickered for a long time. [Does he know about your condition?}

[Yes.]

[Does he know you almost lost your voice?]

[Yes.]

[And he doesn’t mind?]

I stared at those words and almost laughed. Bryce, not everyone treats my past like a weight they

have to carry.

A long silence. Then he typed, [That’s not what I meant.]

I typed back: [It is. But it doesn’t matter.]

He asked, [Do you love him?]

I didn’t answer right away.

Owen had just texted me. [I’m home. Savory coffee trauma level: five stars. But if it makes you laugh again, I’ll drink it twice.]

I smiled down at my phone. Then I typed back to Bryce. [I’m willing to talk nonsense with him. For me, that’s the beginning.]

Bryce never replied.