Page 84 of Shattered Melodies

Time had lost all meaning, blurring together in a haze of alcohol and anger and soul-crushing despair.

I found myself wandering down the hall, my feet carrying me of their own accord to the one place that had always been my sanctuary.

The music room.

It was one of the few spaces in the house that was fully unpacked, fully set up and ready to go. My guitars lined the walls, my amps and pedals and recording equipment all neatly arranged and waiting to be used.

And there, in the center of it all was my piano. My beautiful, beloved baby grand, the one constant in my life that had never let me down.

I ran my fingers over the smooth, polished wood, feeling the familiar grain beneath my fingertips. It was like coming home, like finding a part of myself that I hadn’t even realized was missing.

Almost without thinking, I sat down on the bench, my hands finding their place on the keys like they’d never left. And as I started to play, as the first few notes rang out in the stillness of the room everything else fell away. The pain, the fear, the overwhelming sense of loss and longing that had been my constant companion for longer than I could remember.

It was just me and the music, the melody flowing through me like a river, washing away the debris and the detritus of my fucked-up life. And then, slowly, gradually, I realized what I was playing. Realized the significance of the notes that were spilling from my fingers like raindrops, like tears.

It was a song I had written years ago, back when Caleb and I had first fallen in love. Back when the world had seemed bright and shiny and full of endless possibility, when our love had felt like the center of the universe.

I had poured my heart into that song, had bled out every ounce of my soul onto the page. It was a love letter, a promise, a vow that I had meant with every fiber of my being.

And now, playing it again after all these years, it was like a punch to the gut. Like a knife to the heart, twisting and tearing and ripping me open from the inside out.

Because god, I had been so young then. So naive and hopeful and full of dreams, full of a love that I thought could conquer anything. But I had been wrong. So fucking wrong, in ways that I was only just beginning to understand.

The song built to a crescendo, the notes ringing out like a cry, like a prayer.

Then I felt a presence behind me. Felt the weight of eyes on my back, the prickle of awareness that meant I was no longer alone.

I didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t break the spell that had settled over me like a blanket. But I knew he was there. Knew it with every beat of my heart, every breath in my lungs.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the door frame, watching me with those deep, dark eyes that seemed to see straight through me, straight to the core of who I was.

“Keep playing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Please.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers faltering on the keys. But I didn’t stop. Didn’t let the music die, didn’t let the connection between us fray and snap.

Instead, I kept playing. Kept pouring out my heart, kept baring my soul in the only way I knew how.

Caleb moved. Crossed the space between us in a few long strides, his hands reaching out to grab the guitar that sat in the corner, waiting to be played.

And then he was there, right beside me. His fingers finding the strings, his body swaying in time with mine as we fell into a rhythm that was as natural as breathing, as effortless as the beat of our hearts.

We played together like no time had passed at all. Like we were still those lovesick kids who had dreamed of conquering the world, of building a life and a future and a forever.

Like nothing had changed, even though everything had.

The song came to an end, the last notes fading into silence. And for a long moment, we just sat there. Breathing in sync, our eyes locked and our souls laid bare.

But then Caleb smiled, a soft, sad thing that made my heart clench in my chest.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said quietly, setting the guitar aside and standing up. “We should eat before it gets cold.”

He held out his hand, an offering and a question all in one. And I hesitated, my mind whirling with doubts and fears and the bitter sting of old betrayals.

Because this was dangerous. This easy intimacy, this unspoken understanding that flowed between us like a current, like a livewire.

It was everything I had ever wanted, everything I had ever dreamed of. But it was also everything I was afraid of, everything I had run from for so long.

Because what if I let him in again? What if I opened up my heart, let down my walls and allowed myself to hope?

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