Page 127 of Yours Until Forever

The room goes quiet. Then chatter ripples through the crowd as I step into the light.

I don’t look at anyone at first.

Only at the piano.

But as I reach it—fingers grazing the wood, breath slow and steady—I let myself glance up.

And I see him.

He’s standing at the back of the ballroom.

Frozen.

Like he’s watching the moment he never dared hope for.

I lower myself onto the bench. And I speak into the mic, soft but clear.

“This piece is personal. It’s for someone who once gave me silence and made it feel like love. I wrote it when I realized I didn’t have to be fixed to choose forever.”

Then I place my fingers on the keys.

And I play.

34

Gage

I can’t fucking breathe.

Not when she walks on stage.

Not when she says my name without saying it.

And when she sits at the piano and her fingers touch the keys, everything in me surges.

The ache.

The want.

The relief.

The fucking silence I’ve been choking on for three months.

I haven’t heard her voice in weeks. Haven’t touched her, haven’t looked at her for longer than seconds without someone between us.

And now she’s here.

The first few notes hit low. They’re slow and deliberate. It’s the kind of opening that tells you the song’s not here to entertain you. It’s here to say something.

She plays like she’s not interested in being predictable.

Just when you think you’ve figured out the rhythm, she shifts it. Lands a note a breath earlier than you expect, or holds it a second longer than she should.

It’s not chaos. It’s control.

She’s telling me something with every change in timing.

You don’t get to predict me.

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