Elliot led Harper through Ridgeport's winding streets, his hand warm and steady in hers. The town had taken on a magical quality in the evening light, the cobblestones glowing with hues of amber and gold. Harper felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—excitement mixed with nervous anticipation.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.
"Patience," he teased, glancing back with a grin. "Trust me, you'll like it."
They turned down a narrow alley that opened onto a small courtyard Harper hadn't noticed before. String lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a soft glow on the scene below. A makeshift stage had been set up in one corner, where a group of musicians were tuning their instruments.
"This," Elliot said, stopping in the center of the courtyard, "is Ridgeport's open mic night."
Harper looked around, taking in the cozy, intimate atmosphere. A handful of tables were scattered across the courtyard, occupied by locals sipping drinks and chatting. The air buzzed with quiet energy, a sense of community that was both comforting and foreign to her.
"Do you play here often?" she asked.
"Sometimes," Elliot said, shrugging. "It's a good place to try out new stuff. Low pressure, high payoff."
Before she could respond, a woman with a clipboard approached them. "Elliot! You're up next," she said, giving him an encouraging smile.
He nodded, then turned to Harper. "What do you think? Should I go for it?"
Her smile widened despite herself. "Definitely."
Elliot gave her a playful wink and headed toward the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulder. Harper found an empty table near the front and sat down, her curiosity piqued.
When Elliot stepped onto the stage, the crowd quieted, their attention drawn to him with ease. He adjusted the microphone and strummed a few chords, the sound rich and resonant in the crisp evening air.
"This one's new," he said into the mic, his voice calm but tinged with vulnerability. "Still working out the kinks, but… here goes."
He began to play, the melody soft and haunting, weaving its way through the courtyard. His voice was raw, filled with emotion, and Harper felt every note like a ripple through her chest.
The lyrics told a story of crossroads and choices, of letting go and holding on. Harper couldn't help but feel like he was singing directly to her, the words resonating with the questions she hadn't dared to answer.
When the song ended, the courtyard erupted into applause, but Elliot's eyes found hers. He smiled, a quiet acknowledgment that sent a warmth through her she couldn't explain.
As he made his way back to the table, Harper rose to meet him.
"That was…" she began, searching for the right words. "Incredible."
"Yeah?" he asked, his smile growing.
"Yeah," she said, her voice soft. "You have a way of… I don't know, making things feel real. Like you're speaking straight to people's hearts."
Elliot looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Maybe I was."
Harper's breath caught, the weight of his words settling between them.
Before she could respond, the woman with the clipboard approached again, this time holding out a pen and a slip of paper. "Harper, right?" she asked, smiling warmly.
Harper blinked, surprised. "Yes?"
"We encourage everyone to give it a try," the woman said, gesturing to the stage. "Sing, recite a poem, tell a story—whatever you're comfortable with. You don't have to, of course, but we'd love to have you."
"Oh, no," Harper said quickly, shaking her head. "I don't perform."
Elliot chuckled, leaning against the table. "Come on, Harper. Step out of the box. You might surprise yourself."
She shot him a look, half-amused and half-terrified. "I don't even know what I'd do."
"Tell a story," Elliot suggested, his tone encouraging. "You've got plenty of those."
Harper hesitated, the idea both thrilling and utterly terrifying. She glanced at the stage, then back at Elliot, who was watching her with an expression of quiet confidence.
"I'll think about it," she said finally, taking the pen and paper from the woman.
As the evening wore on, Harper found herself drawn into the warmth of the open mic night. Performers of all ages and talents took the stage, each one bringing something unique to the crowd.
And slowly, the walls Harper had built around herself began to crack.
By the time the clipboard came back around, she had made her decision.
---