She sat there for a moment, the world quieter than ever before. She felt the pulse from the veins on her temple. She felt the way her heart pumps blood through every inch of her body. She felt the way it moved under the skin of her fingertip. But she will never hear a heartbeat. Is it a blessing or a curse? At least she can still feel a heartbeat. Beads of sweat trickled down her nape. Her hair and shirt all drenched in damp sweat.

 

A tap on her shoulder snaps her back into reality. She turned her head to find upturned smiling eyes looking back at her. He points towards the group of people who were now gathered once more to practice.

 

She learned to feel the dance moves in her soul and the beauty of each move. There was no music to guide every hand gesture or footsteps. The world was quiet like that. Cruelly depriving her of music to accompany the dance, and not the other way round. Whichever one should have come first no longer matters.

 

Having finished practising, they all went and have a quick shower before gathering for an announcement on their next practice. She spaced out once more. Everyone started bowing and said their greetings before leaving the studio. She picks up her bag absent-mindedly. Another tap on her shoulder wakes her from this momentary trance.

 

The same upturned smiling eyes were looking at her. He pointed at her and towards himself a couple of times, and drew a hand gesture of drinking. An awkward and shy laughter escapes through those coral pink lips. She shakes her head and waves her hand.

 

"I don't drink." She smiles politely.

 

He mouths: "Not alcohol. Tea. Ok?"

 

agape, she realises that he wanted to grab tea with her. She nods and gestured an Ok sign with her hand.

 

They walked together in silence. The permanent silence in her head, undisturbed by the din of the roads to her left even as cars and bikes sped down the asphalt. A hand touched her right arm, leaving a tingly sensation on her skin as she quickly looks down. The young man looked front and back before gently pulling her to walk inside. It was just another quiet and genuine smile in response to her widened eyes.

 

She wondered if it was her increasingly hyperaware sense of touch which leaves this tingling under her skin even long after he had let go of her arm. A dull and constant ringing begins again. He walks one step ahead of her as they arrived in front of a cafe, and he pulls the door open for her to walk in. They ordered their drinks and sat down. Beads of sweat were forming on his temple. She hands him a tissue which he took embarrassingly before dabbing on his forehead. He then pulled out a legal notepad with scrawlings of indecipherable symbols drawn all over the pages. He flips to a fresh page and wrote down some words with a ballpen.

 

How do you find the dance classes?

 

She smiled politely.

 

"I don't know. For now, it feels odd and I feel out of place. I can't hear the music so it is almost as if I'm learning a dance which would accompany the music and not the other way round. It feels like I have everything in the wrong order."

 

"No."

 

She saw his mouth moved before writing down words in response.

 

A dance can be made before a song is heard. Dances and songs have no priority order. They are both art forms in their own right.

 

She ruminated over that and found it quite true. Yet it still felt inevitably weird. The world felt like a different place now. She slowly nods her head in hesitant agreement.

 

Suddenly, she felt this unpleasant feeling of not being able to engage in conversation with this young man sitting in front of her. While he could patiently write on his notepad, she felt impatience creeping upon her.

 

"I hate having conversations." She said it aloud.

 

He looks at her. The smile no longer there but he looked on with concern and a tinge of worry. He scribbles again. Oddly enough, this led her to feeling even more frustrated.

 

Do you know that game? The word relay game. One person would say some words to the other person who is listening to loud music or have their ears blocked entirely. You should think of playing that game.

 

She stared at him. He is a people person. He takes his time to care about the people who are in the dance group too, just as he is doing now. If she did not know, she might have assumed that he was also a therapist at the hospital.

 

He speaks to her, in a slower pace.

"Look at me."

 

"Look at you?"

 

He nods, the smile returning to his face.

 

"You need to learn how to read lips."

 

"Read lips?"

 

"Yes. We can search for information on it. What do you think?"

 

She thinks over about the idea. It is a shame she had not thought about it herself. She kept drowning herself in a storm of feelings since she saw the doctor and found out about the diagnosis. Ever since, she had been caught up in an emotional turmoil. For once, she felt a gust of fresh air fill her being. She nods a bit more enthusiastically. He smiles back and pulls out his Macbook. He powered it up and then moved it towards her. He pulls the chair right next to her and sits down.

 

He immediately searched online for lip reading as well as basic sign language for them to learn from. She wondered what it was which drove him to go out of his way just to help her. Was it pity? Compassion? She could feel some kind of warmth emitting from him. He was slightly crouched over the table, his long fingers swiftly moving across the trackpad. He looked at her and she snaps out of her thought.

 

"Look at this," he says, "there are ways to learn lip reading."

 

He scribbles down some notes, messy words scrawled across the page. Almost as if a light bulb just went on, he snapped his fingers and looked at her excitedly.

 

You should look at the mirror and practice pronouncing words. Like dancing, you should watch how your lips and tongue moves.

 

He scribbles more notes: 

Hand gestures, body language...

 

Her thoughts drifted away, out into the streets and then up into the sky. She stopped reading a few years back. There was no reason in particular. She simply got caught up with work while her books were stowed away in boxes and shelves. The pages turning yellow from neglect and the passage of time. Maybe she could try reading again. It is the only activity that would not require listening. She makes a mental note to herself that she should stop by at the bookstore.

 

He waves his hand slowly in front of her. A smile on his face, like a constant that is non-existent in this world. She blinks a few times and laughs awkwardly again.

 

"I'm so sorry. I keep daydreaming and am so out of it today. I was thinking of some stuff."

 

He smiles, a genuine smile, and says: "I guess you're tired."

 

"I'm okay."

 

With his two fingers wiggling, he asks: "Would you like me to walk you home?"

 

"It's okay. Thank you. I would like to go to the bookstore."

 

"Let's go together."

 

He begins packing up his Macbook and notepad. They finish their tea and left the store. The silent walk resumed and she began to lose herself in her thoughts once more. There were times when she hated noises. People speaking loudly in cafés or in the subway. Loud noises of music which were of genres she did not like. The blaring of honks. She no longer remembers how the whirring of the refrigerator sounded like. The sound of a knock on the door. The clicking of heels on wooden floors. Nothing is precious until you stand to lose all of them at once and humans do not know until it was all too late. Life was always late at giving such warnings.

 

At the bookstore, she went straight for the classics section. She browses the section but could not settle on which book to buy. She was so lost in her thoughts that she never bothered to find the man she had entered the bookstore with.

 

He emerges from the other aisle with a book in his hand. He hands it to her and urges her to look at it. She flips open the book and goes through a random page. It was a collection of poems and she sees one which hits home for her. His finger taps on the page twice.

 

"This is a very famous poem."

 

"How did you know about this poetry collection? It's beautiful!"

 

He scratches his head and smiles shyly.

 

"The people around me enjoy reading so I get to read a bit and learn something from them."

 

She purchases the book and they leave the store. They were walking past a park and it was quiet. She could not hear it but the trees were rustling in the breeze. She saw the branches sway to the melodies of the wind. He answers a call and then turns to her.

 

"I've got to go. I have another practice."

 

She nods her head and smiled genuinely. She felt grateful for his company and earnestness in reaching out to her.

 

He reaches out his hand towards her and looked at her, seeking for approval. When she did not back herself away, he gently took her arm.

"When you dance, feel the movement. Engage with it. Even without music, you can feel the dance."

 

He teaches her how to do a hand wave, almost like the swaying of the trees around them. Still, she could not quite understand how dancing was anything that goes beyond remembering the moves and following the guidance of the song. Here was this man, so passionate about dance and telling her to let herself experience the feelings of dancing. She felt as if she could almost understand. With a faint smile, she nodded her head.

 

 

"I'll leave now." He waves at her as he turns his back to leave.