I have a strange gift: I can hear the thoughts of anyone who doesn't love me.
Two years ago, I met Graham Vaughn and thought he was the one. We were engaged, with a wedding set for the fall.
But the night before we were to be married, at our rehearsal dinner, his mind suddenly opened up to me.
I heard him rehearsing how he’d say “I don’t” at the altar, right before making a grand, heartfelt confession to his ex-girlfriend, who would be hiding among our guests.
I didn’t say a word.
The next day, I boarded a first-class flight to London, leaving them to their grand farce. They became the biggest joke on the East Coast.
The last thought I ever heard from him was: "Tomorrow, when I say 'I don't,' I need to pause, give the spotlight time to find Blair."
————————
1
I have a strange ability: I can hear the thoughts of people who don't love me.
Thanks to this, I can easily see through hollow feelings and escape fake friendships. Even when a crush confessed, I was never fooled. It’s even useful for mundane things—like grocery shopping. Hearing a vendor’s thoughts complaining about his overripe inventory always helped me pick out the best ones.
I can hear every word in their minds with perfect clarity. To find a scrap of peace, I've learned to avoid eye contact with strangers.
But when I first met Graham Vaughn, the entire world went silent. All I could hear was our conversation.
"Hi. I'd love to get to know you."
I hesitated, bracing for the usual cacophony of thoughts. But there was only silence. When our eyes met, I couldn't read his mind.
"Hello."
Throughout his entire courtship, my world remained blessedly quiet.
For a while, I truly believed he was my one true love.
We fell in love, dated, and started planning our wedding. For two years, I never heard a single thought from him.
But on the day before our wedding, that all changed.
Graham had been exceptionally busy. He was the heir to the Vaughn Group, Boston's famed real estate empire. As the day approached, countless details needed his attention. Between his work and the wedding, we'd barely had a moment alone for months. Still, when I arrived for the final fitting of my wedding dress, I felt a flutter of excitement.
He was already there, absently scrolling through his phone. He glanced up, offered a quick smile, and his attention snapped back to the screen, fingers swiping rapidly. I understood. Managing an empire was no small task.
We shared a brief, knowing glance.
But in that instant, his thoughts crashed into my mind.
'This lace is so fussy. It's nothing like the classic, elegant design Blair sketched for me.'
Blair? A wedding dress sketch? I froze, staring at him. The confirmation was a shard of ice in my chest, completely shattering the studio's warmth. For the first time in two years, I had heard his thoughts. And that could only mean one thing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his phone screen. It showed a photo of a tattoo—a rose tangled in thorns, a design I’d never seen.
Graham noticed my gaze and frantically pocketed his phone. It was a flicker of awkwardness I’d never seen from him; he was clearly hiding something.
Almost involuntarily, I called out, "Graham?"
I was desperate to hear more, to understand what was happening inside the head of the man I was supposed to marry. Why, on the eve of our wedding, had he changed?
Hearing my voice, he froze, then hastily cobbled together an excuse as he backed toward the door.
"Sorry, something urgent came up. An issue with a construction site in the South End. I have to go."
He was lying.
His thoughts told a different story.
'Blair's panicking about tomorrow. I can practically hear her crying. If I don't go calm her down right now, she's going to bail on the whole thing.'
I was never one to sit back and wait. I immediately messaged a friend in the Vaughn Group’s IT department, asking him to check Graham’s hotel booking records for the past two months.
