Chapter 20

(Inspired by her fear of losing her voice and the pressure she puts on herself.After a show, Billie completely loses her voice.No interviews. No singing. No talking.For days, the only way she communicates is through notes on her phone and silly drawings.Until one night she types:”I think I’ve been in love with you for months and it’s killing me not being able to say it.”)

It didn’t happen all at once.

That was the worst part.

There wasn’t a dramatic moment she could point to later, no single second she could say that’s when it went wrong.

It just… faded.

Slowly.

Like her body had been lowering the volume without asking permission.

By the time Billie stepped off stage that night, something already felt off.

Not pain exactly.

Not at first.

Just absence.

Backstage was louder than usual.

Too many voices. Too many moving parts. Too many people speaking as if sound itself was something unlimited.

Billie tried to say something to one of the crew, something small, something normal but what came out didn’t sound like her.

It barely sounded like anything at all.

She tried again.

Nothing.

Her throat tightened slightly, confused more than panicked.

Then she swallowed.

Tried a third time.

Silence.

That was when her stomach dropped.

Not fear yet.

Just disbelief.

Like her brain hadn’t caught up to her body deciding something without her.

Someone noticed her face change.

“Billie?”

She opened her mouth again.

Nothing came out.

And suddenly the room felt too bright.

Too loud.

Too real.

She didn’t speak again that night.

Not backstage.

Not in the car.

Not when she got home.

Just silence sitting where her voice used to be.

The next morning, it was still gone.

And the morning after that.

And the one after that too.

Doctors said things she barely listened to.

Rest.

Inflammation.

Vocal strain.

Stress.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing that explained how something so essential could just… disappear.

So she stopped trying to explain it.

And started adapting.

Her phone became her voice.

Short notes.

Simple sentences.

Sometimes just words.

Sometimes just emojis when she didn’t have the energy to form anything more.

She drew more too.

Small things at first.

Doodles of whatever was around her.

Cups.

Chairs.

Her dog.

The ceiling when she couldn’t sleep.

And Blake noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

Because Blake always noticed things about Billie that other people missed.

That was how it had been since they met back then.

Not loud friendship.

Not dramatic.

Just… consistent presence.

The kind that didn’t demand anything but somehow became necessary anyway.

The first time Blake saw the phone notes, she didn’t make a big deal of it.

She just read the screen carefully when Billie turned it toward her.

Then looked up.

“You can’t speak?” she asked softly.

Billie shook her head.

Blake nodded once.

“Okay.”

That was it.

No panic.

No excessive sympathy.

Just acceptance.

And Billie loved her a little more for that immediately.

Hated that she did.

But did anyway.

Days passed like that.

Blake staying close without hovering.

Sitting with her between meetings.

Talking like normal, even when only one of them was actually speaking out loud.

Billie replying through her phone.

Through drawings.

Through tiny exaggerated sketches that made Blake laugh more than she expected to.

One night, Blake found her sitting alone in a dressing room after everything had ended.

No one else around.

Just Billie.

Quiet.

Still.

Phone in her hand but not typing.

Just staring at it like it had stopped helping.

Blake knocked gently on the doorframe.

Billie looked up immediately.

Relief flashed across her face before she could hide it.

Blake stepped inside.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Billie lifted her phone.

Hey.

Blake sat down beside her without asking.

For a while, neither of them moved.

Then Billie typed:

It’s weird not being able to interrupt my own thoughts.

Blake read it.

Smiled slightly.

“That sounds exhausting.”

Billie nodded.

Blake tilted her head.

“But also kind of honest?”

Billie hesitated.

Then typed:

Too honest.

Blake let out a soft breath.

“Yeah. I get that.”

Silence again.

But not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Blake glanced at her.

“You’ve been quieter than usual even without this.”

Billie frowned slightly.

Then typed:

I’m always loud in my head.

Blake nodded.

“That tracks.”

Billie looked at her for a long moment.

Long enough that Blake noticed.

“What?” she asked gently.

Billie shook her head.

Then typed slowly.

Nothing. Just thinking.

Blake raised an eyebrow slightly.

“That usually means something.”

Billie almost smiled.

Almost.

Then hesitated.

And typed again.

This time slower.

More careful.

Like each word was heavier than the last.

I think I’ve been in love with you for months and it’s killing me not being able to say it.

The room didn’t change.

But everything inside it did.

Blake didn’t speak immediately.

Didn’t rush.

Didn’t react loudly.

She just read it again.

Then looked at Billie.

Really looked at her.

Like she was checking if she understood the weight of what she was seeing.

Billie’s chest tightened instantly.

She suddenly regretted it.

Even without speaking it out loud.

Even without hearing a response.

Regret was still loud enough.

Blake finally exhaled slowly.

“…You don’t have your voice,” she said softly.

Billie nodded.

Blake leaned slightly closer.

“But you still said it.”

Billie swallowed.

Looked down.

Then nodded again.

A pause.

Then Blake reached for her hand.

Slowly.

No hesitation.

Just certainty.

“You didn’t need your voice to tell me that,” she said quietly.

Billie looked up sharply.

Blake continued:

“I think I already knew.”

That hit harder than anything else.

Because it wasn’t surprise.

It was confirmation.

Billie’s grip tightened slightly around Blake’s hand.

Blake squeezed back.

Soft.

Steady.

“You’ve been really bad at hiding things for a long time,” Blake added, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Billie let out a quiet, broken laugh that didn’t fully sound like anything.

Then typed:

That bad?

Blake nodded.

“Very.”

Billie stared at her for a moment.

Then leaned her head lightly against Blake’s shoulder.

Careful.

Like she was afraid the moment might disappear if she moved too fast.

Blake didn’t move away.

Didn’t tense.

Just stayed there.

Present.

And for the first time in days, Billie didn’t feel like her silence was a loss.

It felt shared.

Later that night, Blake found another note on her phone.

One Billie didn’t show immediately.

Just left sitting there between them.

It said:

Don’t let me disappear in this silence.

Blake read it quietly.

Then looked at her.

And said, without hesitation:

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And Billie believed her.