I tossed a pack of markers into the shopping basket with poster paper, pencil crayons, copper wires and crocodile clips. I debated snagging an empty shoe box from Walmart's shoe department, but a box would make crafting the city diorama harder. A slab of corrugated construction paper should do. Building dioramas was one way to spark my musical creativity. It'd been some time since I'd tapped into my architecture/geography/landscape passion anyway. What I would actually build to pair with Nora's song was debatable, but seeing your work transform into something you didn't expect was an enjoyable part of the process.

My ears picked up the beginning jingles for Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas" from the store's speakers. It scattered my thoughts like snowflakes in a storm.

"I'm almost done," I said, convincing myself. I hadn't finished collecting half of what was on my shopping list though—most notably, Christmas gifts for my family.

That thought launched a mini-meltdown until I was able to back track to the food aisles and grab the right brand of cookies. A different brand, but that'd have to do. I hummed to drown out the moving parts of the world and calm myself down.

It felt way more than a few months since I'd seen my family. They understood that shopping was a Herculean challenge—the uncertainty, the noise, everything. Part of me wanted to drive back home and bunker in my family's home with my sisters and parents and never come out again.

The last item on my list was a new phone case, since my current one was pretty scuffed from clumsy falls. I spedwalk to the technology section. My finger hovered over the different phone cases, but black and blue and green options overlapped with drums and arguments from nearby aisles, squeezing my head. I hummed, but it wasn't enough, and there was no way I was going to sit on the sludge-streaked floor. Instinctively I abandoned my shopping basket and hurried around the laptop display tables. If I could get to the clothing area, the carpets and jackets should be enough insulation to stop this sensory overload--

My shoulder collided with someone. Their hand pushed me back and gripped my shoulder like a vice, making my entire body seize.

"Can't you watch where you're going?" the guy in a blue vest--a Walmart employee--demanded. He released his hold on me. The painful sensation eased like pouring liquid on a nasty burn, but it didn't help, because his slow, condescending tone grated against my ears. "Like I said, that model is sold out. Just--nevermind. Ask someone else. I'm tired of dealing with idiots," he grumbled, stalking off.

"And you can fuck off, you condescending asshole!"

I had tucked myself under a display table, shut my eyes and rocked back and forth. Disoriented, I didn't understand who was talking to who until a pocket of silence opened itself in the store like a soothing balm. The furious tapping of keys drew my attention to a pair of grey boots near me.

After a while, the grey boots stopped in front of me. Monty crouched down. His ears were red—maybe from shame, embarrassment, anger, or all of them. "People are looking," he said drily. "Let's get out of here."

--

In the parking lot, we stopped beside Monty's car.

"That was rude of him," I signed.

"Uh-huh. Should've brought my hearing aids. Then maybe someone would believe I'm not faking my disability."

I knew what that was like; someone doubting my request for accommodations because I didn't look Autistic. Like I was the deceiver. Like it was a compliment or a perfectly valid reason to not lift a helping hand. But the words lodged in my throat. Even if I hadn't been assaulted with sensory overload, would I have had courage to confront the rude employee, while Monty would've done the same for me in a heartbeat?

I widened my eyes at the amount of things he was unloading into the car's trunk. "Are you building a gaming PC?"

"One for Jo, yeah. Christmas gift. It's the only way I'm convincing him to play more games, but even if not, it'll last him some good years. And I'm trying to upgrade my current laptop for work purposes. In case I get a job," he said quickly, adjusting his glasses. "Also, uh..."

But I lost the rest because the plastic bag containing my groceries rustled in the wind. It joined the commotion of sounds: tires crunching on gravel, traffic on the nearby road, a family of four unloading their groceries in the car next to us. Everything pressed in from all sides, and I recognized the beginnings of a headache. "I should head home."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Oh, right. Sensory overload. Sorry, I realized this isn't the best timing, but I do have to tell you something important.Well, really important."

I was too tired to catch social cues, but I did know that Monty appreciated face-to-face conversations, since facial and body language gave nuance to a conversation the same way vocal tone did for me."We can meet tomorrow at the Toronto Reference Library," I suggested. "I wanted to work on a new song."

—

With five floors stacked upon each other like a layered donut cake, the Toronto Reference Library's layout was honestly suited more for a shopping mall. Or a museum. The center opened up to a wide space where you look on the first floor. Each succeeding floor curved around the building in vanilla strips and cascaded down to the lower floors in elegant staircases. Fortunately the cream, browns and golds didn't give me a headache, unlike other places that had harsh unnatural colours. The downside was that the library was too well-lit for me. To others it might be fine, but to me, the bright fluorescent lights poked at my eyes like toothpicks until I jammed a Toronto Blue Jays' cap on my head. I preferred sunglasses, but repping the city's baseball team led to less probing questions about my light sensitivity. Even if it was still winter.

I told Monty as much as I could about the grand library. How the original plan was to use mirrored glass on the exterior. "Can you imagine the glare it'd make when drivers turned the corner? It's not a movie screen!"

He didn't react to my joke or didn't know it was one. Then he bumped into some of his university friends and said he'd meet up with me later. They walked off, sharing their achievements in com-sci competitions.

My heart felt like it was stabbed with an icicle, but I looked down to my still-visible body. The difference between literal and figurative invisibility was no difference at all.

As I tried to identify the noisier sections of the library and avoid them, I spotted Monty's partner on the floor below me. Joachim was crouching in a circle with other friends, one hand on the floor precariously balancing him. They looked like they were debating something in earnest.

I snagged an empty desk equipped with a side lamp in a secluded corner. Here I was surrounded by tall bookshelves and comfortable lighting. Finally, a space that wasn't overtaken by the Christmas craze.

As I brainstormed lyrics for Nora's song--and scratching them out when they sounded too sappy or too standoffish--I occasionally took breaks by listening to my favourite love songs for inspiration. "Rock and Roll" by Christone Ingram*, because love songs could also be dedicated to parents, not just romantic interests. "Est-ce que Tu M'Aimes" by Maître Gims*; I'd abhorred French class (had enough struggle with English), but the songs introduced by my French teacher stuck with me. And "Roses At My Feet" by Charu Dubashi.

Really, any of their songs could be interpreted as romantic. Their PR supported the implication. But to me, they used the world as a stage--a medium to project their true feelings into transferable songs that could be personalized by anyone. Because who knew what was true and what was not? Their songs were solid case studies into creating atmosphere. Classical instruments weren't really my taste, but it was admirable, arranging many moving parts into one cohesive story.

I was surprised Phiona never brought Charu up as a solid case study for marketing as well. They came from a rough background but through their sheer talent they climbed up to the big stage. Naturally people looked up to them. But their image was always the right balance of welcoming and mysterious, leaving their audience wanting more. And Charu would never disappoint with their next single or album. I could scoff at Hidden Stars' disorganized Instagram that overflowed with posts like spam email, but they were good at the things that mattered. At getting results.

Realizing I'd drifted onto a click-baity celebrity article, I turned my attention back to the task. Their songs were excellent but the cool, melancholy vibe wasn't what I wanted to carry in my own songs.

In the middle of "Faith" by Moneyphone*, two messages interrupted the music.

MOM: Are you staying after the break?

TIENNE: Mom and Dad want you to stay after the break. They're trying to convince us to convince you.

I hadn't expected anything different. My parents were against me moving to Toronto in the beginning. The pattern stayed the same: ask me to stay, convince me to stay longer, then nudge me to align with their opinions. I also had to think about how coming home with little success on my music career would appear. To my parents. To Kimmy, my older responsible sister who attracted praise for her intellect like magnets. To Tienne, my little sister who missed me every day. She was the only person I constantly updated my life to, though our texts felt more or less like dry diary logs of "Tai's Greatest Hits in His Boring Life."

Usually I wouldn't know how I appeared to them, but Asian parents never held back on what they thought. A blessing and a curse.

I told them I planned to go back to Toronto. I had Phiona's promise to uphold -- she made it clear we were going the full length ahead.

TIENNE: Is Nora coming?

TAI: I didn't invite her.

TIENNE: OMG Tai, ask her! Don't you want her to come? Wait, didn't you say she had family problems or something? It sounds like she really needs some family time. If you invite her, it shows that you care about her and her situation.

TIENNE: Kimmy and I can help you break the news to Mom and Dad, though you'll have to answer their questions yourself.

TIENNE: Have you talked with her at all this week?

I felt so stupid. Of course, of course people invited their significant others to important celebrations like Christmas. Nora said she was ready to meet my parents, and frankly I was too--there wouldn't be much to gain from hiding our relationship when we both felt committed. It would only deteriorate the trust I had with my parents.

I had assumed Nora would be busy with her own Christmas plans, but now that I thought about it, her parents were in a divorce. It'd be hard to imagine a festive celebration in what seemed like a stressful situation. And I did care for her! I hadn't known that she would like these things though.

I immediately texted Nora. My stomach twisted itself in knots. I hadn't done anything wrong, so this feeling was baseless, but had my absence of action done anything? Maybe I hadn't talked with her enough. She was always the one to reach out to me, and I responded when I could, but what if I wasn't enough?

"I'm not reading more than five books, jeez," Monty said, rolling his eyes. I looked up to see Monty and Joachim in the middle of some banter. "Hey. I haven't properly introduced you two right? Tai, this is Jo. Jo, Tai."

"No need to be formal. Hi." Joachim gave me a half smile. He had a light bronze complexion, curly brown hair and toned arms from being on sports teams. He turned his head slightly, like he expected someone to peek between the bookshelves.

Monty elbowed him and told me, "Thanks to this guy, my winter break got a lot busier."

After a beat, Joachim countered, "Books make you smarter. And frankly, unlike people, they don't make you tired."

"You're an English major?" I asked Joachim.

He threw up his hands in defeat. "No, Monty just has a vendetta against literary analysis. I'm in media studies. A blend of social psychology and journalism. Reading from different points of view, especially on topics you don't agree on, helps you learn a lot," he explained in fluent sign language. To Monty, he signed, "You made me appreciate video games. I'm returning the favour."

Monty rolled his eyes but a smile crept up his lips. He leaned into Joachim, resting his chin on Joachim's taller frame and whispering something into his ear. Joachim's shoulders relaxed, and he played with Monty's hair.

Saying that he had a family outing to attend to, Joachim eventually left. Monty slid into the seat. Seeing my smile, he raised an eyebrow, and pink crept into his cheeks again.

"What's the smile for?" he grumbled.

"Because you're happy." It was normal to blush and feel embarrassed and happy when someone else did too, right?f

He cleared his throat. "A-Anyways," he stammered, keeping his eyes on the table, "I wanted to properly apologize for dragging you to see Raj when you weren't ready to. And for passive-aggressively texting you when there wasn't a problem in the first place. You were uncomfortable. I forgot--okay, that's a lie. I thought that if you stepped outside your comfort zone, you'd be able to push through, but that's my fault for assuming. I'm sorry," he finished sincerely.

It hadn't occurred to me that I needed this apology. I was so used to being treated the same way that Walmart employee treated me--that I was always in the wrong. "Thanks," I signed, touching my lips with my fingers and moving it downwards. Sign language was great that way. One gesture didn't mean ten possible things in different scenarios. When I signed, I knew that the other person would understand that my words were genuine, even if my expressions didn't translate into what people thought was genuine.

A serious expression crossed his face. "And I know sometimes you need to stim and stuff. I'm still getting used to you not acting like a neurotypical person would. But you don't need to...what's the term? Mask? Around me."

His response only puzzled me. My mind flipped through the necessary signs to ask my question. I was never good at being concise, and speaking a second language was like planning ahead a long road map. But ASL didn't have fancy verb conjugations like French or regular English. It reminded me of Vietnamese--it got straight to the point.

"Aren't you contradicting yourself? It surprised me when you went to talk with those other guys. How do you deal with being the only Deaf person in a group? And how do you handle being in a romantic relationship with a person who doesn't have the same disability as you do? Because...." I struggled for signs. "Because sometimes, you can't give what other people want."

He tilted his chin up."I can communicate with hearing people just fine. My disability doesn't erase my ability to code, do math problems or be a good listener."

"I didn't mean that!" I signed hastily.

He exhaled. "It's my bad for jumping to conclusions without asking for clarity. But the disparity is why I work hard to show my strengths. So they see beyond my Deafness. I show off my coding skills because it feels good to have praise but also to crush other people's opinions."

"But you don't have to do that!" I interrupted, standing up and pushing my chair away. My forgotten pencil fell to the ground. A few curious heads peeked in our direction. I signed faster while whispering. "You're not just your talents either. You're a person who bulldozes any obstacle in his way, and you stick up for others. T-There's no way people could define you as one thing...."

My heart was pounding, I didn't know why I felt desperate for him, because Monty looked anything but, it was always his resting face, and I guessed that when you didn't show emotions the usual way it could be hard to interpret.

Monty held up his hands. "Tai, I know my self-worth. You don't need to remind me." But his voice lowered in resignation. "I'm just...used to it. And honestly, I'm surprised you didn't see that as conceited."

"You're not a bad person. But just.." I trailed off, the fire in me dwindling away. I sat back down and drummed my hands on the table, making a rhythm. I closed my eyes. "You're not arrogant, okay? You're my friend. And your purpose for coding shouldn't only be for others. It should be for yourself too."

"Ha. Now how could I possibly be arrogant?" he said, laughing. He stifled his laugh when a librarian came over to us and gave us a stare reserved for delinquent university kids.

I didn't see what was funny. Then again, we were different. Monty liked to bask in his talents, on a raised pedestal in front of a crowd. The only audience for my own music were some faceless Instagram followers, myself, and when I remembered, other people in my life.

He continued, "Getting back to the topic, some people think I should be ashamed of my hubris but I'm not. When you're the only Deaf person they've met, you feel like you have to destroy their assumptions right? I don't want them thinking that Deaf people aren't interested in socializing with hearing people. We are, just when you're not assholes."

I nodded hesitantly.

"Jo's nice though, so our relationship works," he added. "He had some of the same thoughts that hearing people did, but the difference is that he changed and he's a good person. Disabled or not, a partner isn't going to understand every nuance of you in the beginning. What matters is how you handle it."

It took a lot of trust in a relationship. Wracking my brain for every interaction I did with Nora, I cross-examined them with previous interactions. But instead of finding a clue that I did something wrong, I tried to find the source of my fear. Should I really apply my assumption that dating a neurotypical person would end in me making the mistake?

Monty looked down at the table. "So...I need to ask you a favor. Jo and I wanted to spend more time together. The university has other resident buildings open for the winter break, but both of our families want us to go back home unless we get a cheaper alternative. Please...Is it okay if Jo stays at our apartment--?"

"Sure. I'd be going back home for the break so just put everything back exactly where it was before."

"Ah...Thanks. I'll tell Jo." He gave a half-smile. Just like that, his voice evened out and the bookshelves weren't looming over us.

"Was that you or me?" I asked.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said. I was too busy focusing on his words, so the reason or cause of why I felt I needed to hug him to make it stop, to make the bad feeling stop, vanished. But how could he know if that feeling belonged to me or not?

I looked down at my paper, at the crossed-out lyrics. The pencil was still on the ground, so I stooped to pick it up. There was so much to say but little that felt significant enough to be....enough. Ironically, this feeling got harder, not easier, after we met for the first time.

My fingers drummed a soft, irregular pattern. I pictured the setting--not of how the heck I would even introduce Nora to my family, because that was a can of worms I wasn't ready to tackle--but of her hometown up north, in the quiet streets of Aurora, where it felt so different from the enormous building and city I was in.

The rain falls when I lost it all

But it made a rainbow

That led to you so

I gained something to recall...

Long after Monty left and I was still at the library, drawn into the Internet rabbit hole of Google Maps, Nora replied to my message.

NORA: Thanks for telling me this, Tai. I can make it for one night. Not in time for the Christmas dinner. How about the 29th? Please, tell your family to enjoy the dinner without me. I can eat the leftovers. I want to be here for my dad. Thanks for inviting me. Let me know if this is okay. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Love, Nora