Chapter 6 — The Last Remaining Echo

The placement I accepted upon graduation was an art rehabilitation center for hearing-impaired children. Some of these little souls were entirely deaf, while others retained a faint, blurred echo of the world. Here, they learned to capture rhythm through vibrations, to translate the lyrics of songs into the silent poetry of sign language, and to commit music directly to the memory of their flesh. During my very first class, a small girl lingered, her gaze fixed intently upon my right ear.

Teacher, she asked, can you not hear either?

I crouched down to her eye level, smiled softly, and nodded. I cannot hear out of one.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she asked again. Does it make you very sad?

I pondered the question for a moment. Once, it did. But later, I discovered that the world does not demand to be heard with the ears alone.

The child nodded, seemingly understanding yet wrapped in a haze of childish wonder. Then, she pressed her tiny palm gently against the surface of the speaker, slowly lifting her arm to follow the pulse of the beat. In that exact fraction of time, a quiet certainty bloomed within me: my decision to walk away had been entirely right.

Half a month later, Lu Tram tracked me down. It was just as my shift had ended. He stood waiting outside the threshold of the rehabilitation center, his hair in disarray, his eyes webbed with a network of crimson bloodshot veins. The moment he caught sight of me, he surged forward with rapid, desperate strides.

Shen Van.

I halted in my tracks, my voice level. Is something the matter?

His eyes flushed a vivid, humiliated red instantly. I know everything now. The surgery, what happened to Nien Nien, and that hearing aid... I am so sorry.

I looked at him. There was a time when I had yearned for this apology with every fiber of my being, waiting across the span of countless years. Waiting until the persistent ache in my right ear hardened into a ceaseless, roaring tinnitus. Waiting until the shattered remnants of my art examinations dissolved into a lifelong grief for the university gate I never crossed. Waiting until I finally taught myself how to walk into the hospital entirely alone, fill out the endless paperwork by myself, and step back out into the cold air without a hand to hold. Now, at long last, he had arrived. But I no longer had any use for it.

Lu Tram reached into his coat and drew out a thick stack of documents. I have already been in touch with a specialist abroad. They say there is a new nerve stimulation procedure now; perhaps we could still try it. Shen Van, come back with me. I will be by your side through every step of the treatment.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Lu Tram, the window for optimal recovery closed seven years ago. What you are handing me right now is not hope. It is merely your late-arriving conscience.

The color drained entirely from his face. I know I was wrong. I should never have kept it a secret when I went to see her. I should never have signed that postponement form. I should never have rushed to shield her before making sure you were safe from harm. But Shen Van, we spent so many years together...

I cut him off mid-sentence. Lu Tram. You once promised that you would be my right ear.

At last, the tears broke free, spilling down his cheeks. I watched him with an unshakeable calm. But it was only later that I learned you had long since taken my voice away to listen to someone else weep.

He stood frozen on the spot, as though pierced cleanly through the heart by those words, utterly stripped of speech. A security guard approached, asking if I required assistance. I gave a slight shake of my head, then turned my back and stepped through the doors of the rehabilitation center. From behind me, Lu Tram’s voice cracked in a hoarse, desperate plea. Shen Van, I will still wait for you.

I did not turn my head. Whether he chose to wait or not was a matter that no longer bore the slightest connection to my life.

My parents and my older brother arrived a month after that encounter. They stood outside the walls of the rehabilitation center, entirely stripped of the entitled, overbearing arrogance they once wore like armor. My mother cradled a worn cardboard box in her arms. The instant she saw me, heavy tears welled up and spilled over.

Van Van.

I glanced down at my watch. I still have a class to attend. The lot of you have ten minutes.

Mother flinched as though struck physically by the coldness of my tone. In a flurry of trembling panic, she pried open the lid of the box. Nestled inside was a pair of worn dance shoes, the very ones I had worn seven long years ago. The satin edges were frayed to a ghostly silver-white, and a dried, dark smudge of old blood still stained the pointed toe.

I brought these for you, she choked out. You loved these shoes the most back then.

My gaze lingered on the forlorn footwear. In an instant, I was thrown backward across the years, remembering how I had forced my insteps to bend again and again within the suffocating quiet of the practice room. Even when the skin of my toes rubbed raw and bled onto the floor, I could never bring myself to part with them. Because back then, foolishly, I believed that if I simply tried hard enough, my parents would finally deign to look my way. Yet reality had proven with brutal clarity that those who do not love you will never notice your blood. To them, you have merely soiled their clean floors.

Throw them away, I said.

Mother froze, her breath catching. Van Van...

Father’s voice was thick and rasped with gravel. I have already taken Nien Nien away. That piano has been moved out of the house as well. Your old room has been restored to the exact way it looked before.

My brother chimed in hastily, desperate to bridge the chasm. And the expenses for the surgery and follow-up care—whatever treatments you wish to pursue from now on, I will shoulder every single cost. Van Van, your brother was a bastard back then. I should never have assumed you were just naturally strong, always pushing you quietly into the background.

I looked at the three of them, and a profound, bone-deep exhaustion settled over me. To this very day, none of you understand. I did not walk away because of a bedroom. Nor was it because of a piano, or some hollow welcome-home banquet. I began to die inside, piece by agonizing piece, the very moment you signed that cancellation form seven years ago.

Mother wept openly, shaking her head in frantic denial. Back then, I was just too terrified that something would happen to Nien Nien. I thought you had always been so sensible, that you could endure anything...

I gave a slow nod. That is correct. I endured it all. Which is precisely why the lot of you can leave now.

The blood drained completely from Mother’s face. She reached out a trembling hand as if to grasp at my sleeve, but her fingers stopped mid-air, clutching at empty air. Do you truly not need your mother anymore?

I met her tear-filled eyes without a flicker of hesitation. It was you who discarded me first.