Page 3 of Symphony for Lies

When Tristan pulled back, I was surprised to see a single rose and two concert tickets in his hand.

“I’d love to see you there.”

Heat crept up my face as I hesitantly reached for them.

“How did you…?” I murmured, stunned.

But he just bowed, just like after one of his performances, before turning away.

“Wait! Thank you…”

He chuckled softly. “My pleasure… my muse.”

Thinking I had misheard him, I wanted to ask if he genuinely meant it, but my feet refused to move as he left quickly. Stunned into silence, I simply stood there, staring after him.

This little moment felt magical, and my mood slightly lifted.

When my gaze fell to the rose, I noticed something engraved on the stem.

The sound of my music... is you.

Chapter 2

“Grandma, I’m home!” I called out as I stepped inside the house.

“There you are!”

I glanced up while putting on my house slippers and smiled at the petite woman standing before me.My grandmother, Evelyn, was nearly two heads shorter than me. Her short, gray hair was softly curled, and she wore a pink nightgown with large pockets where she always kept crochet projects tucked away.

“I’ll warm up dinner for you, my child,” she said, already turning toward the kitchen.

I reached out, gently catching her arm.

Even though I was already twenty-four, she still called meher child, and I had a feeling she always would.

I wrapped my arms around her.“You don’t have to do that.”

She immediately hugged me back, her warmth seeping into my body and wrapping me in comfort and the familiar scent of vanilla. I pressed in closer, needing the embrace more than I wanted to admit.

She started gently tapping my back, but then she sneezed—once, then twice. By the third time, I instantly pulled away.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry. I’ll go wash up.”

My grandmother had a pet allergy, and since I had just returned from work, it was likely I had traces of fur or dander on my clothes.

“It’s alright,” she reassured, but when she sneezed again, she placed a finger under her nose.

She shooed me toward the stairs, but I lingered for a second as she walked into the kitchen. I listened carefully, waiting for any more reactions. But when I heard her blowing her nose, followed by the soft clatter of dishes, I exhaled in relief and hurried upstairs, making a quick stop in my room to set the rose and concert tickets on my desk before heading straight for the bathroom.

Our home was small but cozy, with two floors. Downstairs, we had the living room, laundry room, and kitchen. Upstairs were the bedrooms—mine and grandma’s—along with a single bathroom. We also had a small garden where my grandma lovingly tended her flowers.

When my grandfather passed away, the house hadn’t been fully paid off. I couldn’t let my grandmother shoulder the burden alone, so I started taking multiple jobs.

I had given up so much throughout my whole life—new clothes, vacations, free time, even my music education. I loved music. But how could I have justified spending what little money we had on piano lessons?

Once I was done in the shower, I changed into something comfortable and wrapped a towel around my damp hair. I had no energy to dry it. All I wanted was to eat something and go straight to bed.

Temporarily refreshed, I trudged downstairs to the kitchen, where a bowl of soup and a few small sandwiches were already waiting for me on the dining table.

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