The muffled hum of the bustling school hallways faded away as Yuki Aihara quietly closed the door to the soundproof music room behind her. Inside, the world became still. The only sound that remained was the soft beat of her heartbeat in her ears. This room had become her sanctuary—far from the crowded classrooms, the judgmental eyes, and the overwhelming energy of her classmates.
She crossed the small room, her fingers brushing lightly against the music stands and dusty piano. It smelled faintly of old sheet music and varnish, a scent that always brought her comfort. Her guitar sat against the wall, where she had left it last time. She reached for it, her hand steady, though her heart raced slightly as she tuned the strings.
This was the one place where she could breathe.
Yuki sat on the stool in the center of the room, her fingers automatically finding the familiar frets of her guitar. She closed her eyes and strummed lightly, letting the first gentle chords drift through the air. Her music was soft, barely above a whisper, as if she were afraid to disturb the silence. It was a song she had been working on for weeks, something personal and raw, but no one had heard it yet—not even her closest friends.
"Could they even understand it?" she wondered. "Would they care?"
Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Tentative. She sang the first few lines, her words barely more than a breath.
"I wonder if they see me… Or if I'm just another face…"
The words trailed off before she reached the chorus. She stopped playing, frustration tightening in her chest. Her hands fell to her sides, her head lowering as the familiar wave of self-doubt crept in. Yuki loved music more than anything, but the thought of sharing it terrified her. On stage, in front of people, she felt vulnerable—exposed in a way that made her stomach churn.
A sudden creak startled her. She looked up, eyes wide, and froze.
Standing in the doorway was Haruto, his expression as unreadable as ever. His presence immediately filled the small room, though he said nothing at first, his gaze taking in the scene—the guitar, the unfinished song, the girl staring at him as if caught in some secret act.
Yuki's heart pounded. "How long has he been there?" Her first instinct was to apologize, to blurt out some excuse for being here, but no words came.
Haruto was a well-known figure at school—brilliant, focused, and practically untouchable. Though they shared a few classes, Yuki had never spoken to him beyond the occasional polite exchange. He was the kind of person who seemed perpetually on a different plane, always absorbed in his work, always out of reach.
For a moment, Yuki thought he would just leave, but instead, Haruto stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He walked to the old upright piano in the corner, his movements calm and silent. Without a word, he sat down on the bench and placed his hands lightly on the keys, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Yuki stared at him, still frozen in her seat. "What is he doing?"
"You were singing, right?" Haruto asked, his voice quiet but clear. His eyes remained focused on the piano keys, his fingers resting lightly on the ivory. He didn't look at her.
Yuki's throat felt tight. She managed a small nod, still too startled to speak.
Haruto nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself. Then, without another word, he began to play. His fingers moved with precision, each note deliberate and calm. The melody was simple, but there was a uniqueness in it, a quiet company that Yuki hadn't expected. It wasn't flashy, it was just there, steady and patient, as if waiting for her to join in.
The room was filled with the gentle sound of the piano, a soft, comforting melody that wrapped around Yuki like a warm blanket. Her fingers twitched against the strings of her guitar, unsure at first. But slowly, without thinking, she began to play along. Her guitar added depth to the piano, the two instruments weaving together in perfect harmony.
For the first time in a long time, Yuki didn't feel alone in her music.
She hesitated when the melody reached the part where her voice was supposed to come in. Her fingers stilled for a moment, and she glanced at Haruto, who was still focused on the piano, his face calm and composed.
"You don't have to be perfect," Haruto said softly, sensing her hesitation. "Just… let it out."
Yuki swallowed, her throat dry. "Let it out?" She didn't know if she could. But there was something about the way Haruto played—something quiet and reassuring, like he wasn't judging her, like he was just… there.
Taking a deep breath, Yuki closed her eyes and let the words flow.
"I wonder if they see me… Or if I'm just another face…"
Her voice was still soft, barely more than a whisper, but this time, she didn't stop. The words poured out, shaky at first, but gaining strength as the melody guided her. She sang about the things she couldn't say out loud, the feeling of being invisible, of not knowing how to be heard, of wanting to belong but not knowing where to start.
Haruto's piano never faltered. He supported her with each note, giving her the space she needed to find her voice.
When the song finally ended, the room was filled with a soft silence. Yuki's heart was still racing, but she felt lighter, like something had shifted inside her. She glanced at Haruto, expecting him to offer some advice, but he simply closed the piano lid and stood up.
"You're better than you think you are." Haruto said. "Don't be afraid to let people hear it."
Yuki blinked, her throat tight with emotion. She didn't know what to say. No one had ever told her that before. She had always felt like her music was too quiet, too soft to matter. But now… now it felt like maybe it did.
Haruto walked to the door, pausing for a moment before he left. "If you ever need someone to play with, I'm usually around," he added.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Yuki alone in the room with the ringing sounds of the piano in her ears.
For a long time, she sat there, staring at the spot where he had been. Haruto Sakamoto, the serious, quiet, untouchable genius of the school, had just played piano with her. And somehow, without saying much at all, he had made her feel like her music matters.
Yuki looked down at her guitar, her fingers brushing against the strings. For the first time, she felt the stirrings of something new, a quiet hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could find the courage to share her music with the world.
Yuki has always felt like an outsider, but music is her refuge. She listens to various J-pop artists, composes her own songs in secret, and dreams of one day performing live. The only problem? She has stage fear. She is an introvert. She's terrified of public attention. She is part of the school's music club, but she only plays background instruments, hiding her real talent as a vocalist. Her home life is supportive but quiet, with her single mother always encouraging Yuki to step out of her comfort zone. She often feels stuck, wanting more from life but unsure how to break free from it.
To be continued....