Chapter 1: The Song That Wasn't Mine

When the campus queen stole my song to enter a competition and win an award, I exposed her in front of everyone.

The applause was still echoing in the auditorium when I realized my song was gone—and so was my trust. The faint scent of popcorn drifted in from the lobby, but it did nothing to settle the sick twist in my stomach.

But my childhood friend stood up for her.

"You can't talk, and you can't sing the song yourself. What's wrong with letting Natalie have it?"

"Seriously, Lily, what are you doing? You’re making this a huge mess. Worst case, just write another one."

Later, I joined a music reality show with my upperclassman. Our live songwriting and duet blew up online.

We were even photographed walking into the same hotel.

That night, my childhood friend rushed over and banged on my door: "I'm going to report you for kidnapping a disabled person."

The senior, wearing a half-open bathrobe, pinched my lips: "Baby, how about we pretend to be deaf tonight?"

"We agreed—just pretend to be deaf, not mute."

---

"Natalie Parker, winner of the first prize in the 18th 'Rainbow Cup' Songwriting Competition at Maple Heights College of Music, congratulations!"

"Wow, first prize. I wonder what kind of song it is."

"We'll find out soon. I heard that this year, the judges include not only professors from the college, but also Senior Caleb Miller, who just got back from New York."

I overheard my roommates talking about Caleb Miller as I came out of the bathroom. The squeak of old auditorium seats echoed down the hallway, and faded banners for the 'Maple Heights Mustangs' fluttered by the doors.

I couldn't be more familiar with him.

Back then, Derek Foster decided to apply to the music college because he loved Caleb Miller's music.

And since I grew up with Derek as my childhood friend—and liked him for years—I followed him here.

Just now, Derek even texted me, saying he'd met his idol.

"No wonder it's such a big deal. Even the local news is here."

I dried my hands and joined them to watch, the faint scent of popcorn from the lobby concession stand lingering in the air.

My roommate quickly used sign language to tell me who had won first prize, but before she could say which song—

The familiar melody had already started to play.

The moment the music began, my roommates' eyes widened as they looked at me.

I didn't even have time to change out of my sneakers before I dashed to the auditorium.

By the time I realized it, I was already standing on stage, and the song had just finished playing.

Panting, I urgently opened my mouth: "Ah, ah, ah..."

I forgot—I can't speak. The words caught in my throat, thick and useless. My mouth moved, but nothing came out except the raw ache of wanting to scream.

The moment Natalie saw me on stage, a flash of panic crossed her face.

But when she heard that I could only make "ah ah ah" sounds, she smirked at me.

The teacher on stage quickly reacted and hurried over to push me off: "Miss, we're having an award ceremony. Please step down."

I pushed back, pointed at Natalie, then at myself.

Finally, I anxiously signed: "This song is mine. She stole my song."

But he couldn't understand.

Soon, someone called out from the audience: "Lillian, come down quickly!"

My eyes lit up, and I waved at him.

"Derek, come help me!"

I gestured at him.

But he walked over quickly, his jaw clenched and he wouldn’t meet my eyes, like he already knew he’d crossed a line. He forcefully pulled me off the stage.

I grabbed his hand, struggling to get back up, desperately making "ah ah ah" sounds.

But he ignored me and dragged me to a corner, flinging my hand away and yelling at me.

"Seriously, Lily, what are you doing? You’re making this a huge mess."

I looked at him, stunned, tugged at his sleeve, and suddenly my eyes stung with tears. I tried to blink them back, but the humiliation burned hotter than the shame.

Almost pleading, I signed: "Derek, she stole my song. Help me, help me tell them, okay?"

He didn't even wait for me to finish signing before shaking my hand off: "You can't talk, and you can't sing it yourself. What's wrong with letting Natalie have this song?"

"Why are you being so petty? Worst case, just write another one."

The hallway outside the auditorium was cold, the linoleum squeaking under my sneakers as I tried to hold back my tears. Derek's words echoed, as if they were some kind of unspoken rule—if you can't speak, you don't get to keep your voice, your story, your song. My fists clenched at my sides. My heart hammered like a drum, wishing the sound could drown out his dismissal.