Lila sat frozen, the violin cradled in her trembling hands, her knuckles white against the polished wood. The world around her seemed distant, muffled, as if the apartment walls were pressing in, suffocating her. Arden's piercing gaze locked onto hers, a curious mix of amusement and something far older, deeper—like he could see the very core of her being.
The warmth of the room, once comforting, now felt oppressive, as though the air itself pulsed with an unseen, intangible energy.
"This is a dream," Lila said finally, her voice shaky, as if hearing it aloud would make it true. "It has to be."
Arden's lips quirked into a wry smile. He began pacing her cluttered living room with the kind of grace that seemed too deliberate, too fluid. "Ah, the dream theory. A classic reaction. Rest assured, Miss Elwood, this is no dream. Quite the contrary, I'm afraid. This is as real as it gets—unfortunately for both of us."
His tone was casual, but the words carried an unsettling weight. He stopped beside her bookshelf, idly running his fingers along the spines of dusty paperbacks, his touch leaving no trace.
"Charming little place you have here," he remarked, his gaze sweeping over the scattered sheet music, a half-empty coffee cup, and the overflowing laundry basket in the corner. "Though I must admit, it's a bit… chaotic."
Lila blinked, startled out of her stupor. "Excuse me? You don't get to judge my apartment. You're the one who appeared out of thin air, claiming to be some long-dead composer!"
Arden chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Touché. But for the record, I didn't choose to appear. That's entirely on you."
"On me?" Her voice rose, incredulous. "How is this my fault?"
He straightened, taking a deliberate step closer, the air around him seeming to hum with quiet power. "You played the violin," he said, his voice soft yet commanding. "My violin. When someone does that…" He tilted his head, his dark eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "…the strings aren't the only things that vibrate."
Lila stared at him, the words sinking in like stones into a deep, dark pool. "You're saying… I summoned you? By playing?"
"Precisely." His tone shifted, growing serious. "That violin is no ordinary instrument. It's a tether—a bridge, if you will—between this world and… where I come from."
She placed the violin on the table with exaggerated care, as if it might combust at any moment. "Okay," she said, taking a steadying breath. "Let's say I believe you. What do you want from me?"
Arden sighed, his sharp features softening. "It's not about what I want, Miss Elwood. It's about what you need."
Lila frowned. "What I need?"
He gestured toward the violin, its surface gleaming like obsidian under the dim light. "That instrument doesn't end up in just anyone's hands. It chose you. And it only does that when someone is… searching."
"Searching for what?"
"That," he said, pointing a long finger at her chest, "is for you to figure out. I'm merely the guide."
His words stirred something in her, a raw ache she couldn't name. Lila thought of the sleepless nights spent doubting herself, the relentless, gnawing fear that she wasn't good enough—that she never would be.
"I'm not here to solve your problems," Arden continued, his tone gentle but firm. "But I can offer you something no one else can. With my guidance, you'll play like you've never played before. Your professor was right—talent isn't enough. But with me, you'll have an edge that no one else does."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what's the catch?"
"Ah, clever girl." His smile was sharp, edged with something unreadable. "The catch is this: every time you play, you strengthen the tether between us. And the more you play, the harder it becomes for me to return to… wherever I'm supposed to go."
A chill ran down her spine. "So I'm… keeping you here? Against your will?"
"Not exactly," Arden said quickly, holding up a hand. "I don't mind being here. In fact, I find your world… fascinating. But the connection is fragile. Too much strain, and it could unravel in ways neither of us want to imagine."
Lila's head spun. A haunted violin, a ghostly mentor, and now the looming threat of cosmic consequences? It was too much. She pushed herself to her feet, her heart pounding. "I need time to think."
"Of course," Arden said, stepping aside with a slight bow. "But remember: you can't walk away from the violin. It's bound to you now."
She glanced at the instrument, its presence suddenly oppressive. Without another word, she grabbed her coat and fled into the night.
---
The city was unnervingly quiet, the usual cacophony of car horns and chatter muted under the blanket of late-night stillness. Lila wandered aimlessly, her breath forming pale clouds in the winter air.
She found herself at the edge of a small park, the skeletal branches of leafless trees clawing at the night sky. Settling onto a frost-covered bench, she stared at the stars, their distant light cold and indifferent.
"Why me?" she whispered to no one.
"You know," came a familiar voice, smooth and amused, "running away rarely provides answers."
Lila jumped, her pulse spiking. Arden stood a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a long coat that hadn't been there before.
"How—?"
"You played the violin," he reminded her, his tone almost teasing. "Like it or not, we're connected. I can't stray far."
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This is a nightmare."
Arden chuckled, sitting beside her on the bench. "It's not all bad. I mean, how many people get a ghostly genius as a mentor? That's got to count for something."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No," he said, his voice softening. "But maybe you needed it."
His words hung in the frigid air, wrapping around her like an invisible thread. She looked at him, his expression unreadable but sincere.
After a long silence, he stood and offered her his hand. "Come on. Let's go back. You've had enough existential dread for one night."
Reluctantly, she took his hand, surprised by the warmth of his touch. As they walked through the quiet streets, she couldn't help but feel that her life had shifted, irrevocably, into uncharted territory.