Mariano grew up with a severe stutter. It made him dread public speaking, so often his mother would do all the speaking for him. This made him fall in love with writing; writing notes, writing questions and soon he started writing poems. When his father began to lose his hearing, Mariano became determined to lose his stutter once and for all since his father relied so heavily on lip reading. He'd practice before he went to sleep, reciting passages from books and words that gave him issues. Soon he'd practice his poetry, and this gave him the confidence to speak for himself. Not only did he improve his speech for his father, but it changed his volume as well. Mariano didn't realize it, but he ended up speaking louder when he'd speak with his father trying to help them hear. This only made him more determined, and he buried his nose in a book until he was confident enough to teach them both sign language. He didn't talk much in town, his mother was ever a chatterbox and happily filled that role for the whole family.

He never thought much of it, reciting poetry in his room. But just a mile up the road, young Dolores held onto every word. At first, his attempts irritated her; she liked to sit outside at night when everyone was sleeping and read the only time it was even close to quiet. And he was the only other person awake. No snoring or whistling could compare with what he considered "whispering." The first night, he was practicing with a passage from the book she was reading and spoiled the ending for her. Every night he'd read aloud; usually from a book Dolores had planned on reading and now couldn't. She realized quickly that they had similar tastes and considered it a challenge to find the book he would read from that night (she suspected he read it in his head during the day) and get to the part he'd be at by bedtime and it would be as though they were reading together.

The stutter bothered her too at first, she had to admit. But soon it became part of his rhythm, Even when it faded, she felt its presence. It made him think about his words, be sure of them, and be confident in them. She didn thear him speak much for himself during the day but when he did it was profound. Nothing was particularly special about the way he sang or hummed or laughed, but every time no matter how quiet these usually mundane things toppled over the loudest thunderstorms. Dolores never thought much of this, because it happened without thinking, the way a song entered your head. It was faceless yet perfectly clear, she ruined meeting the owner and would ruin this secret magic somehow. So she never sought out Mariano in town; but his voice always found her.

—

"Mama please sit down and let me do that!" he said loudly. After a long day the other family members had tasks to do, to keep their gifts useful. Luisa was always training, Julieta had a long list of remedies to prepare for, and her mother tried to plan to forecast for the next day based on what the town needed. But Dolores allowed herself to be selfish, to indulge in this voice that was warm and genuine. He never gossiped or bragged, but he marveled at little things in a way that Dolores could listen to him endlessly. She liked to think she'd be able to hear it even without her gift.

He had a routine. When he came home, He'd tend to his mother, talking as he made dinner and did the chores. He described everything in such grand detail that Dolores felt as though she had been there. He described the smells, the atmosphere, the way he felt in such a sincere and moving way that Dolores couldn't help but be captivated. Even the most common things through his eyes were romantic and knew his routine. When he came home, he'd start his chores while telling his parents about his day and helping with dinner and did the chores. When he wasn't talking he was singing and Dolores didn't know which she loved more.

Then one rainy day (her mother had tried baking with her tia and it had not ended well and was in a bad mood the whole day) they didn't make their usual trip into town and she was delighted to be free of responsibility. She loved the sound of rain and Abuela rarely let it happen and she was ecstatic to discover the voice shared her love when she heard him splashing in puddles and singing to himself. She sat in the bay window and watched the raindrops fall, imagining they were watching together.

That was a perk of her gift: she was never lonely. It felt as though he truly was in the room with her. Today he was especially loud, she noticed. With each song he sounded as though he was getting closer. Was her gift getting stronger? How? Or was he just truly louder? How?

The answer was simple: he was getting closer. Closer. Closer. Was he… coming to Casita? She heard him pass the final house before theirs… yes! He was coming to casita! But why? It must be a sign! A rainy day was such a special day, he father would always say, it must be fate that they finally meet today. She rushed to the door without thinking, it felt as though they both wore magnets the way her feet carried her to the door as he got closer. Casita scooted over a mirror as she checked her hair and adjusted her bow, her hand ready in the doorknob. Usually, she'd open the door before they knocked, a sort of game she played by herself. But some part of her wanted him to knock, to call for her. She thought of what she would say, how she would say it, should she lean on the door or stand up straight what about eye contact-

Knock knock knock

She exhaled and tried to slowly open the door but she could not turn the handle. When she went to pull back, it quickly swung itself open and she nearly fell over.

"Hola," she said before looking up. "Wha-,"

But she stopped when she saw him. His hair was long, tied in a ponytail. His jaw was strong and his smile was wide and gentle. And his eyes...She did recognize him; she had seen him town before but he had never talked to her there, never made a request.

"Um hi," he said, despite holding an umbrella his face was still slightly wet from the rain. "I'm sorry I think I might be early."

"That's okay," she whispered quickly. She rarely noticed when she whispered since it sounded normal to her. She didn't think to ask him what he was early for; she was so excited to put a face to the sound, another game she enjoyed. But there was still something different about this case, why was she nervous? She couldn't tell when she was whispering but she knew she was talking quickly. "I heard you coming down the street so I came to the door I heard your song and I wanted you to know that it's really nice."

The look on his face made it apparent he had not heard her, she said it so quietly it might as well have been a thought. He smiled politely and he searched for a way to fill the silence.

"So should I-."

"Ah! You must be Mariano!" came a voice behind her, it was her tio Agustin. "Welcome son! Dolores, why don't you lead Mr. Guzman to the piano for me?"

"Ok," she said, quickly turning away and he followed suit gracefully. Her tio went over to piano and played the scales and Dolores instinctively told him what needed to be tuned.

"Wow, how did you do that?"

"I just hear them-," by she whispered again.

"Dolores has perfect pitch," said Agustin, sensing her shyness. "She makes sure the piano sounds always sounds its best."

"It hurts my ears otherwise," she said again in her low whisper.

"She'd be an extravagant musician but she won't let me teach her," sighed Agustin dramatically and she smiled. "Which is why I'm thrilled to teach you my dear boy!"

Ah, he was there for lessons! Normally her tio's students were much younger. She knew this was a big step he had been longing to take, putting himself outside his comfort zone. She couldn't help but feel overjoyed for him.

"Thank you for taking me on as a student, my father wanted to teach me but… it's harder for him now and..." There was a sadness in his voice that was so subtle it broke her heart. "I think my mamma would enjoy some music in the house again."

"Of course, let's get started!" Said Agustin proudly, getting the piano bench for him.

So each week, Mariano came over for his piano lesson. Dolores would rush to answer the door and whisper hello before walking to the piano to ensure it was in tune. Sometimes she would undo it the night before so she could stay longer. She realized her connection with him was purely one-sided and was worried she'd say something wrong and it would stay that way.

She'd listen from upstairs as he got better and better the same way he did with his stutter. His passion was apparent and he was a quick learner. Usually she'd retreat to her room during lessons because they were fraught with mistakes but during the lesson the two would talk. Mariano was anxious to write songs and would whisper lyrics under his breath when he found a cord he liked. He' mention things he liked: favorite food, favorite season and, favorite colors. She asked her tia to teach her to bake the tortas he liked, she'd ask her mother to let it rain once and week she got flowers in his favorite color from Isabella to place on the piano. Each time he came over she promised she try and speak normally to him, but each time she went into whispers.

After a few months, she talked herself into saying more than hello; she would say goodbye. She had it planned perfectly; she would change the vase on the piano at the end of the lesson and start a conversation. The possibilities ran through her mind, the speed, the pitch, the pauses all switching and weaving into the perfect interaction. She joyfully skipped to Isabella's room to collect flowers for the vase.

"Isabella, she said, opening the door. "Do you have the flowers for Mariano, I mean Mr. Guzman i mean for me, for me to put where Mariano-?" When she looked up, she did not see Isabella anywhere. Dolores had just assumed Isabella was there, she had never not known where someone was. But it dawned on her; her hearing had not led her here. She typically followed her ears instinctively, but she had been so distracted, it blocked it for a bit. Her thoughts were so powerful, they were all she was able to hear. The thought of him was able to stop the usual chaos she heard. Nothing had ever been able to do that before.

Why did he have that power over her?

"Mr. Mariano, how are you?" Isabella said downstairs, Dolores ears were pulled back from her daze and transported at the mention of his name. She heard Isabella laugh her fake laugh, light and airy, sickly sweet. She flipped her hair, the whole routine rehearsed.

"Good evening, Miss Madrigal," he responded. "How does this lovely day find you?"

"Lovely as always," her voice floated and filtered. Dolores went down to meet her to get her flowers before Mariano left. But then Isa kept talking.

"I've brought a gift to brighten the room," she went on, and Dolores heard the familiar sound of flowers blooming. She ran down the stairs, taking her skirt in her hands as Casita helped her jump down quicker because she needed to make it downstairs before-

"Red zinnias?" Mariano marveled. Seeing the light on his face lit another in Dolores' chest.

"Yes, I was told they're your favorite," she smiled as she said what Dolores should be saying.

"Well you were told correctly," he said with a laugh. Dolores was furious. Why was she furious? She had never been furious before. Why was she so angered by Isabella filling a vase? "Thank you."

"Of course, my pleasure." she replied like a trained pageant queen and she exited her stage with a dove like wave. Mariano offered a meager wave in response and Dolores' heart sank. Her cousin walked towards her, offering her an actual smile," You never came to your flowers, so I delivered them. You're welcome. Boop!" Isabella popped a zinnia behind Dolores' ear and skipped away as her vines took her to her room,

"Have a good day," Marino called as he quickly walked to the door which opened itself for him and he made his way out, his footsteps lighter than usual. He didn't say a name, so maybe Dolores could convince herself he was talking to her.