CHAPTER 30: A Song Waiting to Begin
The piano bench was cold beneath Eli's hands.
Not because of the temperature—but because Ava wasn't sitting beside him anymore.
The rehearsal hall, dim and quiet, still echoed faint notes from the showcase night before. He'd played for her. For them. But now, the silence pressed heavier than any crowd had.
He placed his fingers on the keys.
Nothing came.
No melody. No spark.
Only silence.
Until—
Soft footsteps.
His head turned slightly, his ears sharper than eyes could ever be.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here," Ava's voice said gently.
"I always return to the place where something broke," he replied. "Just in case… it decides to fix itself."
She walked closer, heart in her throat.
"I heard your song."
He didn't turn to her.
She tried again. "I saw it too, Eli. In every note. I saw us."
A pause. Then:
"And what did you hear?"
She took a breath. "A promise… waiting to be kept. A memory… waiting to be forgiven."
That made him flinch.
Her footsteps stopped behind him.
He still didn't look. "I'm not angry you forgot. I'm angry I remembered alone."
Ava knelt beside him, her voice soft but trembling. "I didn't choose to forget, Eli. I survived the only way I knew how. But I'm here now. Not running. Not hiding."
She placed something on his lap. Paper.
He recognized the texture immediately.
Braille.
He touched it, reading slowly. A letter. Not from the past—this time, from her.
"For the boy in the fire. For the man who kept playing music in the dark, hoping someone would hear… I hear you. I always have."
His breath caught.
She reached for his hand.
"You once said music saved you. Let me be the echo that answers it. Let this be our song… waiting to begin."
Eli turned his face slightly toward hers.
"You still see colors when I play?"
"I still paint them," she whispered. "And I want to show you every one."
This time, he didn't pull away. His hand closed over hers.
"Then sit," he said softly, gesturing beside him. "Let's write it together."
She sat.
And as his fingers returned to the keys, hers gently touched his wrist—guiding, not leading. Just… being there.
Together, they began to play.
And somewhere inside that fragile, forming melody was everything they hadn't yet said.
But would.
Soon.