Based on a prompt found at LJ: AU where Ariadne is deaf. For the video prompt, please see my profile page.

Rating: PG-13 for very slight language/sexual references

Disclaimers: I am not affiliated with The Jubilee Project. I also do not have any personal experience with deaf or hard of hearing individuals. If anyone is offended with my portrayal, please let me know.

Louder Than Words

Day 1

It's final exam time and I find myself standing inside the university library, grimacing at the throngs of students already occupying all the tables and chairs on the ground floor. It seems like everyone, me included, has procrastinated until the last minute to memorize the minutia of the semester.

Now, typically I like to study in smaller, more private spaces, like the apartment that I share with my best friend Dom. But recently we acquired an unofficial third roommate in the form of Dom's new girlfriend, Mal. I have nothing against Mal personally, she is a lovely girl; it's just that she and Dom were in that 'we're no longer two people and we can never be separated' stage of their relationship and, well, essentially I couldn't concentrate when they were engaging in either public or not so public displays of affection, both of which were always audible from my room.

When my apartment no longer became a viable option, I had appealed to my other, single friends for a place to study. I had considered myself lucky when Yusuf offered his apartment straight away. He and I both similarly need a quiet atmosphere to concentrate, so I thought his offer the perfect solution.

And it would have been if he hadn't decided to turn his place into a mad scientist's experimental laboratory. I don't know what he was doing with all those chemicals—I didn't want to know, truthfully—but soon every available surface in his apartment was littered with test tubes, flasks, and beakers of questionable liquids.

Rather unfortunately, my stay there was cut short as I ended up leaving after Yusuf's cat, Mr. Mombasa, knocked over a compound that managed to eat a hole right through the middle of my five hundred page physics book. After that disturbing, albeit fascinating event, I never felt truly comfortable with the knowledge that corrosives were within spilling distance of certain parts of my anatomy.

With these final exams looming over my head, that unfortunate incident left me desperate for a quiet space, which is how I justify ever accepting an offer from my friend Eames to study at what he called his 'den of iniquity.'

Now, Eames and I have been friends a long time, almost as long as Dom and I have been, but there were reasons the three of us were not living together as roommates—the 'den of iniquity' being one of them. One of the other reasons, one I didn't even know about, inconveniently presented itself the afternoon I stepped into his apartment with the express intention of studying.

That afternoon I would come to find out that Eames had an unsettling habit of bouncing a soccer ball around while he 'studied.' Yes, somehow this habit went unnoticed throughout the course of our friendship; although, I admit that alone shouldn't be enough to make me leave the apartment after only ten minutes. After all, we all have our fair share of quirks—mine is being a stick-in-the-mud—according to Eames. And one would think since we've been friends so long Eames would have been considerate enough to stop after I asked him to every minute I was there. But that's not how our relationship works and Eames wasn't just bouncing a ball around like a normal person might. He did it while he was in his underwear—only his underwear.

Really, how is one expected to concentrate when he had balls awkwardly bouncing around his face? And when I refer to the plural I mean Eames was only bouncing around one ball, so...

Clearly my friends' places were not the ideal solutions to my current predicament. These events also made me realize I needed to get new friends. But there wasn't time for that. So, with a curse directed at my gross lack of normal friends, I decided to go to the library.

The library is really the perfect solution for one's studying needs: it's quiet with relatively little distraction, filled with endless knowledge within the covers of books and between the ears of students; a place where one could fancy himself learning material through osmosis should his eyes close and his head find its way on top of his book. It's a place built specifically for study.

A place, I discover when I arrive, that is everyone's perfect solution. I've been here for what feels like an hour and I still can't find an empty seat anywhere. As I had just discovered, all of the tables on the ground floor are completely full; my search ends up the same on the first through fourth floors as well.

I become even more disheartened and frustrated while I'm scouting the last floor, the fifth floor, encountering occupied seat after occupied seat. But then, just as I'm about ready to give up and buy a set of earplugs on my way home, I spot an empty chair at one end of a partially obscured table. I swear seeing that empty seat there felt like finding an oasis in the desert. I think I may have even heard an angelic chorus of 'hallelujah!' in my head.

Realizing I'm wasting time fantasizing about deserts and angels, I rush to the empty seat, knocking a book over on one table and hitting some guy with my book bag at another. A couple of quick apologies are all I can manage since I'm almost certain another eager overachiever will suddenly appear to take my chair. As it so happens, I make it without any other incident.

The girl I encounter, wearing the large pink headphones and a red jacket, who's sitting on the opposite end of the table, isn't an incident; she's just an unexpected surprise, and a pretty one at that.

The girl stares up at me and for a moment I think maybe the angels weren't all in my mind. Bathed in a soft light from the sunshine streaming through a nearby window, her striking, wide brown eyes look up at me with question. Long dark brown hair, which I'm partial to, falls in waves, framing a delicate, and dare I say, angelic face. There's a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks, highlighted by what I believe to be a natural blush which I suspect may be as natural as the soft pink of her lips.

Seeing this girl before me, I get this feeling the library won't be any less distracting than my friends' places. But at least this distraction is really pretty.

"Excuse me," I manage to whisper when I realize I'm just gawking at her. "Is this seat taken? Would you mind if I sit here?" I gesture to the empty seat, hoping she won't tell me that it's already occupied…by her boyfriend. "The library seems to be full today and this is the only spot available."

She looks uncertain even after she takes a look around and finds all the other tables full, but eventually nods her consent when she eyes the heavy weight of my book bag. Thank goodness for all the math and science classes I take.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it." Smiling gratefully, I set my bag down and settle in, determined to prepare my brain for maximum information absorption and retention. The process involves my books, notebooks, calculator, sticky notes, highlighters and finally…oh, no. I dig through every pocket of my bag in search of something to write with but come up empty.

I look up from my bag to find the girl across from me notch her head down a little bit. She looks to be engross in her book but I can't help wonder if she was staring at me just a moment ago.

"Excuse me?" The girl keeps her eyes down, studying the pages in front of her. "Excuse me?" I try again in a louder whisper this time. Still, she doesn't acknowledge me.

Reaching across the table I tap her arm, causing her to jump in her seat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just need—I was wondering if I could borrow a pen." My eyes stray to a cool design print pen she has beside her notebook. She picks it up slowly and hands it over.

"Thanks." I smile at her and then examine the pen, turning it over between my fingers. It's not just some cheap generic pen. It has a weight to it that suggests it to be a fine writing instrument. The design itself is unique and for some bizarre reason, reminds me of her. "This is a really nice pen. Where did you get it?"

She frowns at me and for a moment I feel stupid.

"Sorry, I'll let you get back to studying. Oh, and I promise I'll give this back. I'm not a pen thief." I smile at my attempt at humor but the frown on her face turns into a confused expression and before I can apologize for being lame she quickly turns back to her book.

I inwardly cringe. 'I'm not a pen thief'. I'm glad my friends aren't here to see this pathetic attempt to talk to a pretty girl in the library. Hell, I'd probably pretend to be engrossed in studying too if someone tried to rope me into conversation with that line.

Well, I didn't want to get roped into conversation anyway. It was actually a good thing she didn't laugh or answer back. I didn't come here to flirt with pretty girls in red jackets. I came here to study.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Looking up from my book I see the girl still absorbed in hers. She had pulled out another equally cool pen from her bag which she's lightly tapping on the table. She's probably tapping to the rhythm of the song she's listening to.

I try to focus and get the girl and the tapping out of my mind. It could be worse, I tell myself. She could be spilling chemicals all over the table, or bouncing a ball in her underwear…or having sex…with me.

I look up guiltily from an image of her moaning underneath me—I can't help that my mind somewhat naturally and rapidly conjured up that image, I'm just a guy for christ's sake—and catch her staring at me from behind her book. This is when I confirm that the pink in her cheeks is natural. Her heated blush from getting caught staring at me makes me smile at her, but her eyes dart back to her book, looking for all the world like she's engrossed by the pages before her.

I can't control the smile widening across my own face.

Looking back down at my notes I try really hard to concentrate on them, at least for a little while, but I'm too distracted with the process of looking up at the pretty girl, trying to catch her staring at me again. She's doesn't repeat it though, probably because I'm pretty obvious about trying to catch her.

I don't know how long I sit there trying to get her attention before she suddenly gets up and starts putting her things together in preparation to leave. Looking down at my watch I surmise that it's probably been at least an hour. I feel guilty. This time I'm the one being someone else's distraction.

When she's put all her things away, she looks over like she's unsure what to make of me. My brain refuses to make my mouth utter a sound to apologize and before I know it she's leaving.

And then, because I'm so preoccupied with the mental picture I've taken of the sway of her hips as she walks away, it isn't until she's out of sight that I realize I still have her pen.

Day 2

I return to the library early the next day to find that it is once again filled with students. This time however, perhaps because I came earlier, I immediately notice several unoccupied seats. Yet, despite the availability of seating, I wander around for a while, looking for the perfect place to sit, finding every available chair unsatisfactory for some reason or another. It isn't until I'm walking up the stairs, past the fourth floor—and also past many available tables, that I realize where I'm going. Actually, if I were to be honest with myself, I always knew I'd end up back here on the fifth floor and the same table I sat at yesterday.

When I see the same empty chair at the same partially obscured table, I walk over, much more casually than I did yesterday; but this time when I reach it, the girl in the red jacket isn't there.

I don't know why I'm so disappointed. I don't even know her name. Besides, with all my staring she probably thinks I'm some weirdo who is obsessed with her—and on top of that a liar because I did end up 'stealing' her pen!

It's just as well, I think, as I empty my bag. I have a big physics exam tomorrow. I came here to study.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

I pick up my notebook, scanning through my neat and organized notes and try to concentrate. Though I pride myself on having very good focus, today's effort is futile because I'm looking up every two minutes trying to catch a glimpse of the pretty girl. Frustrated, I try convincing myself I'm being stupid and wasting time I could be using to study, but I can't seem to help myself. I check my watch several times during the next hour before finally giving up. Even if she came back to the library there's no guarantee that she'd come back to this table.

But the heavens decide to smile on me today because just as I'm finally able to immerse myself in my notes on elementary particles, I see a flash of red from the corner of my eye. It's the girl.

She's wearing the same red jacket as well as her pink headphones, but she also has a yellow scarf tied around her neck. She looks absolutely adorable.

Slowly, she approaches the table and in between trying to appear casual while I calm my racing heart, I manage to give her a friendly smile.

But she doesn't smile back, just sort of stands there looking around, unsure of what to do. All the other nearby tables are full. I know then that I need to convince her that I'm not some weirdo library stalker.

"Hi. I was hoping to see you again. I wanted to return your pen." Even though I'm whispering as quietly as I can, I get dirty looks from the occupants at the table next me. Ignoring them I pull her pen out of my bag and offer it back to her.

She smiles and reaches out to take it and for a brief moment our fingers brush. My fingers embarrassingly tingle where we touch and when I look at her to see if she experienced a similar reaction she turns away quickly to try to hide her blush.

I've got to say something now.

I give her my most charming smile, the one that makes the girls swoon. At least, according to my grandmother, it does.

"See, I told you I'm not a pen thief."

She just smiles and gestures to the empty chair and I hope I don't look too much like an eager, virginal geek when I nod my consent. The table next to me however, is not impressed and looks like they'll report me to the library police if I go on about the virtuous tales of Arthur, the boy who returns pens.

When I refocus my attention back to the girl I'm disappointed to discover that she already has her book out and is diligently eying the pages. I resign myself to sitting in silence across from her, knowing I shouldn't be talking to her anyway. I still feel bad for distracting her and making her leave. And I don't want us to get reported by the library Nazis sitting at the table next to us, so I keep my mouth shut.

But after several minutes my mind wanders back to the girl. I keep telling myself that I do feel really guilty for distracting her yesterday, all in an effort to forget about her. I don't want her to lose out on studying time just because I want to study her instead of my notes, I tell myself. Plus, I have a big exam of my own tomorrow. I need to concentrate. That shouldn't be hard; I can be an extremely focused guy when I want to be.

Getting back to my notes, I'm successful in retaining important information for my exam for about a full minute before my eyes wander up to spy on the girl. I keep my head down, not wanting to scare her off by openly watching her like I did yesterday. Her head is turned diligently toward her book and she's got the pen near her mouth. I see her little pink tongue poke out when her lips close over the pen cap.

I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable, but keep my head down.

Back to physics. I read a sentence about quantum gravity.

But instead of coming up with theories on how to unify quantum physics with general relativity, I start wondering where she got her cool pen. I want to ask, but remember I've decided to stop with the pen thing. It doesn't work. It's lame. Get back to physics.

With a sigh I stick my nose closer to my notebook, blocking out any trace of the girl from my vision and try to make sense of the string theory section of my notes; but now all I can concentrate on is the 'tap, tap' of the girl's pen which makes me wonder what she's listening to and the kind of music she likes.

I bet she likes indie/alternative hipster bands who all look like they could use a good washing. We'd have nothing to talk about if that were the case. I'm more of a pop music fan myself. I wonder if she likes Katy Perry.

It's that thought that causes me to chastise myself for my lack of self-described focus. But I can't help it. The girl is just way too cute.

Since I've quickly determined that I can't concentrate with her sitting across from me, I chance a glance her way. That's when I notice she's still on the same page of the book she opened thirty minutes ago. It's a page filled mostly of pictures of buildings. That's curious. I wait another five minutes and still she doesn't turn the page or make any notes.

On a hunch, I sit up and pretend to stretch my arms out over my head. In the process I blatantly look up at her across the table. She tucks her head down even more, placing an elbow up on the table. She uses the back of her hand to cover her mouth. I think she may be covering a smile.

That's it; I'm talking to this girl. And I'm not going to bring up anything about pens.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, I lean over and ask "What are you listening to?"

"Shhh!"

The group at the nearest table does not appreciate my whispering. I think I see the girl smile again, but she continues to keep her head down, pretending to read her book.

But I can't be deterred. Taking out my sticky notes I write down the question, sliding the small cube of notes next to her book.

I wait in agony for about half a minute, hoping she'll play along. I smile at my cleverness, but keep my head down when I glimpse her finally removing the note and writing on a fresh piece. She slides the cube back to me, keeping up her pretense of reading.

A special song.

I remove the note and write, Can I listen to it?

She reads the note and hesitates for a bit before repeating her earlier actions with the notepad.

No, I'm embarrassed.

I look up at her but she's turned her head down again.

Why, is it Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream"?

I've never heard it.

What? You haven't? You're lying! I remove the excessively punctuated note, passing it along to her while I begin writing another one. From the corner of my eye I see her lift her head up to look at me. I keep my own down, but smile and continue with my note.

I might get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans,be your teenage dream tonight. I pass along that note as well, including music notes around the lyrics.

I've convinced myself that I'm not making a complete and utter fool of myself.

She looks up again after reading it, and I continue to keep my head down, tracking her from the corners of my eyes. Finally I glimpse her writing something down.

Will you let me put my hands on you in your skin-tight jeans and be my teenage dream tonight?

My loud outburst of laughter earns several loud shushes, this time from several other tables in the vicinity. When I look up at her, she has her head down, but this time I'm sure of the small smile on her face.

I knew you were lying!

I really wasn't.

Ok, I won't make you admit you're a closet Katy Perry fan.

I'm not. Are you?

I can't help but smile up at her. She's openly smiling now too, though her head is still bent over the book.

No, I'm not ashamed of liking her music.

That gets me another smile and she briefly meets my eyes before she turns back to her book. I should probably let her get back to studying.

But I don't, because suddenly, I've found my self-proclaimed focus and it isn't aimed toward physics.

I write another note.

What are you studying?

Basic architecture. What about you?

Physics. I have a big exam tomorrow.

Good luck! I'm probably more pleased than I should be at the little happy face she's drawn next to the words.

Thanks! I'm going to need it since half of my physics book is missing.

What happened to the other half?

My friend's cat got to it. This time I slide the note over on top of my ruined physics book.

The girl looks at it in surprise. She picks it up and looks at me through the large hole in the middle of the book. We share a silent laugh before she writes a note.

I think your friend's cat may be diabolical. She's also drawn a stick figure cat laughing maniacally. It makes me smile.

Nah, he's alright. And at least he doesn't kick a ball around in his underwear!

She gives me a look of disbelief and confusion along with her note. What? Why would he do that?

He wouldn't. He's just a cat, but he's got more sense than my human friends.

She looks up from the note, probably wondering if I'm being serious or not. I take the notepad and draw a crude stick figure in underwear that looks more like a diaper, and a ball bouncing off the stick leg. Underneath I write, My friend Eames and too many bouncing balls. When I pass it to her I nod my head and give her a look that says I'm not kidding.

She's silently laughing the whole time she's writing her next note. You have strange friends. I think you may need new ones. She's also drawn a face with a squiggly line for a mouth.

I stare at that note for a moment debating whether or not I should write what I'm thinking. The girl at the other end has dropped all pretense of studying and is waiting for me to pass my note. She gives me a shy smile.

Taking a deep breath, I start writing.

I know. I pass that note before writing another one.

Would you be interested? This note has a boy stick figure with a holey physics book and a girl stick figure wearing a triangular dress and headphones. They're holding hands.

It's both dorky and a bold move, I know, but it had to be better than my pen thief bit.

But it's hard to tell whether the girl shares my opinion. She stares at the note and then at me with what I believe is a look of confusion on her face. Or maybe it's indigestion. Sometimes those two expressions are hard to tell apart.

Is that supposed to be you and me? So it was a look of confusion.

Of course, don't you see the resemblance?

She smiles when she passes the notepad. Not really. You're naked and I'm wearing a triangle.

Are you telling me I should rethink my dream of being an artist?

The look she gives me is so adorably remorseful that I stop her hand while she writes out an apology on the notepad. I remove the note and crumple it, smiling as I toss it over my shoulder. It hits a guy behind me at the next table.

That makes her smile, but then she quells it by pressing her lips together and gives me an uncertain look.

I take the notepad and jot down another note.

How about a name instead? I pass along the note giving her the best pleading, puppy dog impression I can manage.

I can be adorably endearing when I want to be. At least according to my mother, I can.

My tactics make the girl press her lips together again, this time suppressing what might have been a laugh.

The adorableness of it nearly drives me crazy. I grab at the notepad again, pulling that note off and hastily scribbling another. Come on, pretty please? My name is Arthur. See, that wasn't hard.

She takes the notepad and gives me a scrutinizing look. I give her my 'I'm-so-adorable-I-know-you-can't-resist-me' smile. I get the feeling she's sizing me up. I'm eager to find out if I measure up, and I think she's going to tell me when she writes a quick note, but instead of handing it to me she pulls it off and starts drawing something on another sheet.

"What are you drawing?" I whisper, after several seconds. She's deep in concentration making broken concentric circles. Then she draws in little lines here and there. After about a couple of minutes she hands me both notes.

The first one says, Hi Arthur. I'm the mistress of the maze. On the other she's drawn a complicated little circle maze, at the center of which says my name.

She takes the notepad again. If you can solve this in under a minute, I'll tell you my name.

I look up at her with raised eyebrows and then stare down at her little maze with its concentric circular pattern looking daunting and complicated; I look back up at her and she gives me a little mischievous smile.

I realize then that no girl has ever made me work so hard for a name. This girl, in her pink headphones and red jacket, is making me jump through hoops, or solve puzzles, rather, just for her name.

And I can't seem to help myself. There's just something about her that has me hooked and wanting to know more.

Determined, I look up at her and give her a confident grin. She counters back with an impish little smile and an uplift of one delicately arched eyebrow.

I'm pretty sure she'll be totally worth the minor inconvenience of solving this maze. Besides, I could solve something like this in my sleep.

She taps her watch, acknowledging that she's ready to keep time. I write off one quick note before I start.

I'll still think your name is pretty after I solve this.

She crumples up the note and playfully tosses it at me, her eyes twinkling in amusement and her smile big and bright. It distracts me momentarily, but she taps her watch again and I get it together and focus on the maze before me. I'll learn pretty eyes' name soon enough.

But as my own eyes roam over the paths I trace and retrace through her maze, I realize quickly that I may have underestimated the difficulty of it. Every twist and turn I take seems to lead me to a dead end and before I know it I'm being tapped on the arm and pretty eyes is pointing to her watch.

My shoulders slump in defeat.

Nice try

I look up from the note and see the girl looking as disappointed as I feel for not solving her maze.

I pass her a quick note and give her the flirtiest smile I can pull off. It's the one girls fall head over heels for. At least, in my opinion, they do.

Is there some sort of consolation prize for trying, Ursula?

She silently laughs and I'm hopeful for a moment.

That's not my name, but you can have my pen. She holds out the pen but I shake my head.

I was thinking maybe your phone number, Hortense. Another bold move, but something about this girl tells me it's worth a shot. I watch for her reaction. She hesitates briefly before she writes a note.

I don't have one. And you're wrong, again.

Now that is a terrible lie, Gertrude.

I'm not lying. And stop guessing, you're not even close.

I wouldn't have to guess if you just tell me your name, Eunice.

Nope. And I only give my name to guys smart enough to solve the maze.

Ouch! Sounds like you have some trust issues. I suggest we discuss this over coffee.

She bites her bottom lip, and I swear to god it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. She writes a note that's longer than a one word answer, but I'm hopeful just the same.

I can't, but I'll be here tomorrow, same time. She passes me the note and gathers her things.

"Wait!" This time I ignore the dirty looks from the table next to us and grab the girl's arm. She looks up and I get lost for a moment in her shy smile. "Promise?" Luckily for me I don't care about appearing desperate, at least not when it comes to this girl. Thankfully, my lack of dignity is awarded with a nod and a smile. Then she pulls out a sticky note, playfully sticking it on my forehead before walking away with a wave.

Again, I watch her hips sway away before pulling the note off my head.

I'll see you tomorrow Arthur.

Day 3

When I go to the library the next day I head straight for the fifth floor and the same table and chair I've sat in the last two days. This time I pull the other chair over next to mine before I sit in my own, and wait. I'm early, but I know I won't be able to get any studying done; I've accepted the fact that I'm not here to study, anyway. I came here for one reason only: the girl in the pink headphones, Ariadne.

As it turned out, learning her name on my own was not as difficult as trying to solve her maze. Well, okay, I admit I didn't figure it out all on my own. And, to be honest, it was a little difficult, but only when one considers what I had to put up with to figure it out.

After the girl, Ariadne, left yesterday I wasn't able to concentrate on physics anymore so I packed up my stuff and went home. Dom and Mal were there, as usual, but thankfully not glued together at the lips. Taking advantage of the opportunity I immediately started telling them about the girl I met at the library. I tried to play it cool and make it seem like she was just this girl that I'm totally not infatuated with or anything, but I don't think they bought that. What tipped me off was Dom likening me to some lovesick-cow after I started mooning over Ariadne's long dark waves of hair, her cute freckled cheeks, those beautiful soul-searching eyes of hers, and the soft petals of her lips.

Dom was also of the opinion that my library girl wasn't going to show up, citing that I was too stupid to solve her maze. He was pretty sure that she had just cleverly brushed me off.

He can be a real asshole sometimes.

Mal however, was much more helpful and encouraging. It was kind of nice getting her perspective on such things since she is familiar with the workings of the female mind. She was certain that my pretty brown-eyed gal wouldn't leave me hanging and that it was rather cute the way we were passing notes around instead of studying. She even told me that if she had been the girl she'd probably be half-way in love with me by now.

I don't think Dom liked hearing that because he tried to argue that passing notes was both juvenile and defeated the purpose of my going to the library to study, to which Mal accused him of not having one romantic bone in his body. Their argument eventually led to Dom making the ridiculous claim of having very romantic bones and that he had one super romantic one in his pants at the moment.

I never got to discuss the possibilities of her name with them because I didn't stick around long after that.

Deciding I needed a more logical brain to consult, I headed to Yusuf's place. When I got there I told him about my library crush to see if he could be anymore enlightening. Disappointingly, he wasn't very helpful but he was highly amused when I related to him how she called his cat 'diabolical'. Yusuf suggested I bring her over so she can meet Mr. Mombasa for herself. I didn't give him a straight answer on that right away because Mr. Mombasa chose that moment to knock over another test tube. This one caused a small, but ridiculously high fire that had Yusuf and me running around like chickens with our heads cut off trying to put out.

It wasn't until after we eventually put out the fire that I declined Yusuf's offer of bringing Ariadne over. I reasoned with him that the very real possibility of setting her on fire or burning a hole through her would upset the delicate chemistry we were gradually building between us. Yusuf and Mr. Mombasa understood when I couched it in those terms.

I was left with one other friend to turn to at that point and for some reason he was still in his underwear, kicking around his soccer ball. Eames had finished with exams the day before so in my logical, reason driven mind he had no excuse to answer the door in his tighty-whiteys. But I put up with Eames' antics because I knew he could help me out with the girl. He is annoyingly successful with women, after all. It's not entirely clear to me why, but I have a hunch it's because they never get to see him the way I do.

Why I get the dubious honor, I don't even want to know.

Anyway, after his compulsory "you should totally bang her in the library" recommendation—along with my taking a few moments to enjoy the visual of that idea—Eames made an actual helpful suggestion when he proposed that the maze had to be a clue to the girl's identity. From there it was just a matter of remembering her note, the one where she referred to herself as mistress of the maze. One quick Google search later had us reading about Ariadne, the mythological Greek princess who helped Theseus find his way out of a labyrinth.

I concluded then that it was no wonder she only likes smart guys. She's pretty clever herself. I could use a friend like her. Especially when my current ones were going at it like rabbits, or playing around with corrosives and flammables, or suggesting I draw a maze using my crotch as the goal and telling cute girls I meet in the library to try to solve it with their mouths.

Hi Arthur.

I'm brought back to the present with the note placed in front of me and when I look up I find Ariadne standing there, wearing her pink headphones and the prettiest smile I've ever seen. My brain refuses to function properly just then and I end up staring at her, trying in vain to not picture her solving a maze that leads to my penis.

I do notice her staring at the chair I not so conspicuously placed next to me, so I smile—and not because I still have a picture in my head of her head near my crotch—but to encourage her to sit. When she does the moment is better than I had anticipated.

The sight and smell of her this close is intoxicating. When she removes her jacket and it brushes my arm, it's still warm from her body and I catch a whiff of strawberries. This close I can also see the light glint off her glossy raspberry lips and catch glimpses of golden highlights in her hair. Her tongue peeks out while she removes a book from her bag and I'm captivated by how soft her skin looks and how long her eye lashes are.

Moving her chair over is the best idea I've ever had. Ever.

I must have been staring longer than is comfortable because she gives me a questioning look. I realize I have to do something other than stare so I open my mouth to say something witty or funny or cute—anything to dissuade her from the impression that I'm some sort of creep, but I'm afraid my voice may be reduced to a squeak if I try. Instead, I settle for writing a note that depicts none of those things.

You're late. I add a smiley face to make sure she doesn't think I'm angry.

That earns me a real smile and I feel more like myself now that I'm sure she's not going to run away.

I'm not late, you're early.

I couldn't wait to see you again.

Seeing the blush on her cheeks this close makes me want to high-five myself for moving her chair next to mine.

She takes a while to respond, but I don't mind because she's biting her lip, being utterly adorable in that way of hers.

How did you do on your physics exam?

She remembered I had that test this morning. She's so thoughtful. And pretty.

Let's just say I could give Stephen Hawking a run for his money.

Congratulations! Smart and humble.

I laugh and write another note.

Not smart enough, I didn't solve your maze yesterday.

That is true. When I look over at her she's playfully smiling at me.

You're never going to tell me your name, are you?

She shakes her head, teasing. You have to solve the maze. Her smile is still wide on her face as she passes along another note. Do you want to try again?

I can't, I have to study.

Her face falls when she reads the note and her mouth turns into a little 'o' of disappointment which makes me grab the pad of notes to hastily try to explain. For some reason, seeing her look saddened makes me feel all kinds of stupid.

Actually, I need your help.

I can tell she's hesitant to look at me but when she finally does I give her a small smile to encourage her to hear me out. She takes the notepad and writes out, On what?

Greek mythology. Are you familiar with the beautiful Princess Ariadne?

Her head whips up after she reads the note. I grin at her like a big, excited dork when she nods her head and a slow smile makes its way back onto her lips.

I'm familiar with Princess Ariadne.

Beautiful Princess Ariadne.

She blushes again and looks at me like she doesn't know what to say. I grab the notepad and write a couple of notes.

I need your help because I'm not sure of something. Does beautiful Princess Ariadne prefer to go out for a coffee or an ice cream? The adorable smile is back again after she reads my last note, and it stays there as she answers me back.

Neither, she likes macarons. Macarons with chocolate ganache, to be exact.

What a coincidence, King Arthur likes macarons with chocolate ganache, too.

She silently laughs and gives me a playful push before writing a note of her own.

There is no King Arthur in Greek mythology.

You don't know him? He's only the handsomest, kindest, handsomest, most awesome handsome king of all!

He sounds really handsome! But is he humble?

No, he's kind of a cocky bastard. And he likes Katy Perry's music.

Oh, he sounds kind of lame.

No! He's a really pretty cool guy once you get to know him, despite his taste in music.

She looks up at me after that note, and I'm a little caught off guard when her eyes intently search mine. I'm afraid she might see my heart in them, and I don't want to scare her away with how much I'm starting to really like her. It sounds hokey, I know, liking someone this much when I hardly even know her, but I feel that there's something between, something I can't quite explain. And looking into her eyes just now, I see something there that makes me think that she may like me just as much as I like her.

But then she's biting her lip again, and this time it looks like she's trying to make her mind up about something, maybe about me.

Would you like to listen to my song?

I didn't expect her to ask me that and I'm a bit taken aback by the question. She looks at me, waiting and maybe a little anxious. I can't say that I haven't been curious about what she's been listening to all this time so I nod and whisper, "Sure."

She removes her headphones from her ears and I smile as she hands them over. I eagerly put them over my own ears expecting to hear some whiney guy playing his guitar or maybe even some Chopin or Beethoven, but instead hear nothing. I wait for a few more seconds, but still I don't hear a sound.

Gesturing to the headphones, I shake my head. "I don't hear anything."

She doesn't say anything. Instead she slowly gestures with her hands.

And with those distinct movements, I feel just like the idiot Dom said I was as I finally realize that the cute girl in the red jacket, the one who always wore headphones whenever we met, who passed along notes and has never so much as whispered a single syllable to me, can't hear.

She's signing to me that she's deaf.

I can't look her straight in the eye after that. I'm too busy berating myself for being such a moron for not noticing something as significant as the girl I'm talking to not being able to vocally talk back.

"I'm such a jackass." I shake my head over and over, as if I could get rid of my idiocy by loosening it from the foundations in my brain.

I'm sorry I didn't mention it to you sooner.

Ariadne presses the note into my hand. I don't think she's sorry that she didn't tell me, I think she looks sorry that she did—that she had to tell me.

And just like that I feel like a fool all over again.

"I'm sorry—." I begin to say the words out loud but catch myself and swallow the rest of the apology. I feel awkward and self-conscious now, like I suddenly don't know how to talk to this girl, when just moments before I might have told her everything if she asked me to.

I grab the notepad and fervently write my note. Don't be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't even know. I'm such an id—

I never get to finish my note because her hand on top of mine stops me. When I look over at her I can't tell what's going on through her head. Amusement, maybe. Pity, probably. I just can't seem to get past how dumb I am for not knowing something so vital about her.

But then she smiles, softly, and I can't help but compare her to an angel again.

When I read the note she writes me I'm almost completely certain that she is one.

Don't beat yourself up about it. Actually, I'm kind of glad you didn't know.

Her smile widens when she sees the confused look on my face and she starts writing on a couple pieces of paper.

It's hard for me, getting to know new people and communicating with them. But you didn't make me feel awkward for communicating the way we did. You made it easy. And fun.

I look up from her notes to see her smiling at me.

I made it fun.

It was fun. She made it easy for me to 'talk' to her too. All the notes we wrote, the silly pictures we drew—I mostly drew—I thought I was being cute, but it was really more than that. And even though we never held a normal conversation—at least normal for me—it never felt abnormal either. We had just put our words on paper and let our smiles do the talking. And in that way, I had come to discover that I liked her.

I do like her.

Nothing's changed now except I'm a little less ignorant about her. And this new knowledge hasn't made me want to stop knowing more about her. In fact, it's made me want to know more.

You made it easy for me too. To be honest, I get a little tongue-tied when I talk to pretty girls.

She blushes slightly, but I can tell she doesn't believe me.

Really, I do. I'm lucky you didn't hear my first attempts to get you to talk to me.

I know what's she's asking when she raises her brow.

I kept insisting I wasn't a pen thief to get you to talk to me.

Ariadne scrunches up her nose in distaste and then grabs the notepad in my hand.

You're right. If I wasn't already deaf I probably would have pretended I was.

My mouth drops and she laughs. I nudge her with my arm but she doesn't contain her laughter and her eyes continue to shine with amusement.

I admit it was lame. But not as lame as making a super complicated maze that no one can sol—

She's watching as I write and playfully pushes at me again. I laugh when she grabs the pen out of my hand before I can finish. She's smiling all the while she's writing another note.

It's not lame! Besides, you figured out my name anyway. I'm impressed.

I had some help from one of my friends.

She draws the diabolical cat with a question mark next to it.

I shake my head and draw stick figure Eames in his underwear.

Oh, that friend. I still think you need some new ones. And then she smiles brightly, all of a sudden inspired by some idea brewing inside her head. She starts drawing something on a new sticky note.

After some time, she finally hands it to me. It's a drawing reminiscent of the one I drew yesterday of a smiling stick boy, who this time is wearing a crown, and a smiling stick girl also wearing a crown and triangle dress. Underneath she wrote, King Arthur and Princess Ariadne. They're also holding hands and in the other are round blobs that I'm assuming are macarons.

She laughs when I hand her a poorly drawn macaron. And then she smiles when I slowly and carefully take her hand in mine.

When I squeeze her hand gently and grin, she replies in kind.

No other words are necessary.