The room sat in silence, lit by dust spiraling through tall windows. A worn piano rested in the corner, keys untouched. Folding chairs lined the wall, a forgotten script curled on the sill.
Folding chairs lined one wall, and a script — dog-eared and sun-faded — lay forgotten on the windowsill.
The floor creaked faintly beneath their steps.
Billy walked in slowly. Not like he belonged. Like he was afraid to disturb the air.
His hand ran across the edge of the table. The smooth wood. The faint trace of chalk on the mirror.
Camila didn't say anything.
She just stood back. Watching.
Billy stepped toward the piano. Touched it.
Then turned slowly in the center of the room.
He stood still. Eyes closed.
Like he was waiting for something to return.
But the only thing that came…
was the echo of silence.
