Chapter 3The Day I Was Diagnosed

I didn't reply to Luke's messages again.

Even when he later sent "Just consider it a loan from me first," I didn't respond.

I sat on the sofa, silently waiting for him to return.

Just past nine, Luke appeared.

He wore a gloomy expression on his handsome face and threw his keys heavily onto the shoe cabinet, making a harsh clatter.

Before, at times like this, I would walk over, gently pull his sleeve, and sign:

[Are you angry?]

Then he would deliberately keep a straight face, waiting for me to coax him.

But today I didn't.

I sat on the sofa, flipping through the hospital's re-examination report.

I had never told Luke about my illness.

He thought I just had severe anemia.

At this moment, I suddenly wanted to know, what if he knew I was dying?

Would he regret always pranking me?

I pricked up my ears and heard him slam a water glass onto the kitchen counter, then deliberately slam the fridge door shut loudly.

He was waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to compromise like before.

But this time, I just silently held the lab report, the paper rustling between my fingers.

Luke completely missed my expectation.

He only cared about his own waiting.

Seeing that I didn't relent, he finally couldn't hold it in.

Luke grabbed his jacket, glared at me coldly, and signed: "I'm going back to the dorm to sleep."

I didn't stop him.

The moment the door slammed, I got up and followed him out.

He made a call at the complex gate, his cold, low voice drifting into my ears with the night wind:

"Goose, come pick me up."

"Where else? Waiting for this cheap woman."

"Call Mimi too. I have a gift for her."

This was the first time I heard Luke's voice.

Usually, I only heard uncontrollable, muffled groans from his throat when we were intimate.

Even those few sounds, I thought were sexy.

I had asked him how he became mute and if there was a cure.

He pulled his lips and signed: "A fever burned it out. Doctors say there's hope abroad, but the medical fees would be over a million."

At the time, I thought if I died, I'd donate my heart to his mother.

Then I'd sell the rest of my organs—corneas, kidneys, whatever—finding buyers beforehand.

No matter what, I had to scrape together the medical fees for him.

Letting him speak again became my dying wish.

Now I hadn't died yet, but I had already heard his voice with my own ears.

Ridiculous and tragic.