Can You Hear Me

The buzz around Brandon Carter's concert was insane. Social media was blowing up, just like always. His closing song, "Can You Hear Me?", the one that swept the music awards and everyone's nostalgic hearts, was all anyone could talk about.

I was lurking in Brandon's fan group, watching the frenzy of posts. Everyone was gushing about the concert, easy to picture the electric atmosphere. Then someone tagged me: "Admin, you didn't go to Brandon's concert?"

I'd been a fan since his debut, running this group from the start. Everyone knew how much I loved his music. But the tickets sold out in seconds, and the scalper I'd been talking to bailed. Maybe it was fate.

The chat moved on. "I think we have a Mrs. Carter! VIP front row, gorgeous girl in a mask. Staff escorted her backstage after."

My stomach dropped. Sure enough, #BrandonCarterFirstLove was trending. A video showed the masked girl, her eyes shining as she watched Brandon on stage. The seat next to her was empty, holding her purse. Brandon, bathed in light, kept glancing in her direction. The video felt like a secret love story unfolding in a crowded room.

Someone spilled the tea: The song was written for her. She was Brandon Carter’s long-lost first love.

"They're perfect together!"

"So much for celebrity love stories lasting."

"Is anyone else sad about that empty VIP seat? What a waste!"

I closed my phone.

I wasn't big on celebrities, but Brandon was different. It was a strange feeling, watching him become a superstar, the distance between us growing with his fame. I decided it was time to move on, to hand over the fan group.

That night, I listened to "Can You Hear Me?" while writing in my diary. I'd known the melody since high school. Brandon had chosen me as his lab partner because I was the quietest girl in class, the one who wouldn’t bother him with fangirling.

Truth was, I was just quiet. Everyone called me “Deaf Nina,” or worse, “Mute Nina."

But not Brandon.

I liked him, but I hid it well. He never knew.

I remembered everything about him. Junior year, a late June evening. Brandon helped me up after I’d fallen, wiping the blood from my forehead. He sang me that song, the same melody, the same lyrics. The summer air smelled like him. Our shadows touched on the ground.

He reached the last line, then pulled off my hearing aid.

My world went silent. I only remember his eyes.

He leaned in, close to my ear, and sang the final words.

“I like you.”

That’s what it was.

The internet quickly identified the masked girl: Alana Miller, a singer from a talent show, known for her "rich girl chasing love in the music industry" persona. She’d even hinted at it in an interview: "I entered the entertainment world for someone. A musical genius."

Now everyone knew it was Brandon.

Her social media was flooded with comments: “Hi, sis-in-law!”

I wasn’t jealous, just… melancholic. So, that’s the kind of girl Brandon liked.

I arranged to meet Chloe, my co-admin from the fan group, at a coffe...