Ishika didn't wake up because of the chirping of birds or alarm ringing in the morning. It was the warmth of the sun against her eyelids that woke her up.

She sat up, stretching her arms wide above her head and sighed. She couldn't hear the distant honking of the cars or the loud voices of the vegetable sellers on the street below.

Ishika usually reached for her hearing aids on the bedside table as soon as she woke up, but today, she left it there for a minute longer. Sometimes, the silence felt comforting.

Her mother, Kavita, opened the door with a wide smile on her face. She didn't call her name or yell for her to wake up, like mothers generally do.

Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed and gently caressed her head as Ishika rested her head against her mother's shoulder. 

She cupped her daughter's face and kissed her forehead. She noticed her hearing aids on the side table and moved her hands in sign language, while passing them to her.

Uth jaa laado. Naashta ready hai.

(Wake up, princess. Breakfast is ready.)

Ishika smiled, her lips forming a cute pout. 

"Bas 5 minutes."

(Only 5 minutes.)

She whispered and she held her mother a little longer, making the older lady smile and hold her close.

Ishika came from a middle-class family. Her family never treated her as an alien because of her disability, but as someone who was different and special from the rest.

Her father was a retired bank officer. He had spent years learning sign language just so he could tell her lame jokes at random times.

She moved through the world by being an observer, watching the wat people's eyes crinkled when they laughed, or how a stranger's shoulders slumped when they were tired.

After getting ready for the day, Ishika sat by her window side couch and pulled out her sketchbook. She was a freelance illustrator and loved to work in her own bubble of peace.

As she was drawing, she felt her phone buzz. A specific, long vibration that she had assigned to only one person.

Her heart did a little flutter, a feeling she often described to herself as 'butterfly wings against a window'. She couldn't help the shy smile that formed on her lips.

She picked up her phone and opened the app. For the past six months, Ishika had been chatting with a user named Silent_Observer on an app called Online Buddy.

They bonded on their shared love for art. Ishika's didn't like voice calls and he never asked for them. 

There was a new message waiting for her in her inbox. It wasn't a text. It was an online doodle of a coffee cup with a smiley face drawn in the steam.

Good morning, Ishika. I hope you're having a good morning.

Ishika bit her lip, a shy smile spreading across her face. He had only wished her a good morning and she was blushing. She had no idea why.

Good morning, Eshaan. It's very bright today. I was working on a new piece I started today. What about you? Already buried in your books?

Eshaan was an avid reader. She would show her his paintings and he would recommend her the books he liked.

She didn't know what he sounded like. She just knew that he was slowly becoming the best part of her day.

To the rest of the world, she was the 'deaf girl', but to Eshaan, who was miles away from her, smiling at his screen, she was just Ishika.

He replied almost instantly, his fingers moving with rapid speed as he typed out his response.

Nah! I'm on a break today. It's too noisy outside, so I'm just staying in and enjoying the peace inside the house.

Ishika hugged her phone to her chest and looked out of the window. She didn't wear her hearing aids when she drew, but reading his message, she felt like she could hear everything through his ears.

She didn't know it yet, but on the other side of the screen, Eshaan was looking at his phone and feeling the exact same thing. 

Where on one hand, Ishika's world was a sea of quietness, Eshaan's world was a mountain of unspoken words.

Eshaan lived in a small, cozy, tidy apartment in the same city. His house radiated the same energy any middle class household did.

Eshaan had lost his voice due to a childhood illness, but his mind was a loud, vibrant place filled with stories that never made it past his lips.

Since he couldn't speak, he mastered the art of reading people. He knew when his younger sister, Meera, was upset just by the way she tied her laces. He knew his father was worried about something when he chewed his food slower.

He walked into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water, and found Meera frantically looking for her college ID. She looked up, her face contorted with frustration.

"Bhai! Mera ID card dekha hai kya aapne? Pata nhi kaha rakh dia!"

(Have you seen my ID card? I don’t know where I kept it!)

Eshaan simply pointed towards the counter, where the blue string of the card was peeking out from behind the bread box. Meera grabbed it, exhaling sigh of relief.

"You're a lifesaver bhaiya. I'm getting late! Byeeee!"

Eshaan gave her a thumbs-up and a soft smile. He saw his mother making Upma and his mind drifting to Ishika. He remembered her telling him how much she hated upma and a smile formed on his lips.

He remembered the first time they met on the app six months ago. He had posted a review of a book he had read recently and loved.

Most people commented that they would love to read it, but a user named Ishika_Draws had commented that she wasn't a reader, but she felt like she read the entire book because of the kind of emotions that he had written the review with.

That one sentence had hit him right in the chest. He felt seen. For the first time, someone hadn't just read his words. They'd understood his feelings and emotions through the words. 

As their relationship evolved from public comments to private messages, Eshaan felt a strange, warm feelings pulling him towards her.

He was sitting at his desk now, watching the cursor blink on the chatbox. He loved that Ishika never asked for voice calls, or video calls.

With her, in this digital world, he didn't have to worry about the awkwardness of his hands trying to explain a feeling, or the pitying looks people gave him when he pulled out a notebook to order tea.

He looked at her message and felt a rush of affection so strong it almost hurt. He started typing.

The sun is lucky it gets to see you first.

He types but then deletes it. His heart hammers against his chest. 

'Is it too much?'

He thinks to himself and then settles for something less flirty.

I'm glad you're having a good day. I hope a little brightness of ours reaches me too.

He typed instead, replying to her bright morning comment earlier. Eshaan leaned back on his chair, his eyes fixed on the screen as he saw the bubbles of her typing dance. 

He often wondered what her voice sounded like. If she would pity him like others did when she found out about his condition, if they ever met in person. 

His mother walked in, placing a plate of upma on his desk. She watched him stare at the screen with the same soft, distant look in his eyes, she had been seeing lately.

"Phir se ussi ladki se baat kr raha hai?"

(Talking to that girl again?)

Eshaan felt the tips of his ears turn red. He didn't look up and meet her eyes, but gave a small, shy nod. 

His mother smiled seeing her son blush like that. He looked happy. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and whispered softly.

"Achhi dost hai? Teri aankhein bhut bolne lagi hai aaj kal."

(Is she a good friend? Your eyes talk a lot nowadays.)

She mentally prayed to God to always keep her son happy and smiling like that. 

He smiled at his plate of food, still impatiently waiting for her finish typing. He had realised he didn't need a voice to tell her how he felt, he just needed her to keep reading between the lines, like she did in her first comment.