For three days, Lila avoided the violin as if touching it would shatter her already fragile sense of self. She tried to drown herself in mundane routines—cleaning her apartment, rearranging bookshelves, and staring blankly at half-finished homework assignments. None of it worked. The music she had played, raw and unfiltered, lingered like a ghost in the air.
Arden, true to his enigmatic nature, kept his distance. She could feel him there, like a faint hum just at the edge of her awareness, but he gave her space. It didn't make things easier. If anything, the silence made her thoughts louder.
By the fourth day, her fragile reprieve came crashing down.
A sharp knock at the door startled her out of a restless nap. She stumbled to open it, finding Eve Park on the other side, coffee cups in hand and a tote bag slung over her shoulder, straining at the seams.
"You look terrible," Eve said, brushing past her without waiting for an invitation. She set the cups down on the coffee table and gestured at the apartment. "And your place looks worse. What's going on?"
"Hello to you too," Lila muttered, shutting the door.
Eve turned, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, you've been MIA all week. Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"It's fine," Lila said quickly, brushing her hair back. "Just... personal stuff."
Eve's eyes narrowed. "Personal like professor-chewing-you-out-again personal? Because I'll have words if that's the case."
Lila shook her head, trying to suppress a smile. "No, it's not that."
Eve studied her, then dropped onto the couch with a dramatic flop, scattering stray sheets of music in the process. "If you're not going to tell me, I'll just have to guess. Boy trouble? Secret audition? Witness protection program?"
"None of the above," Lila muttered, crossing her arms.
Eve's gaze darted to the violin on the table, its polished wood glinting faintly under the afternoon light. "It's about the violin, isn't it?"
"No," Lila said too quickly, her voice rising an octave.
"Uh-huh." Eve leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Lila, we've been friends since middle school. I know when you're lying."
Before Lila could form a defense, Arden materialized near the bookshelf, arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips. "She's persistent. I like her."
Lila's stomach sank. "Not now," she hissed under her breath.
Eve frowned. "What was that?"
"Nothing!" Lila blurted, spinning around. "I was just... thinking out loud."
"Right." Eve didn't look convinced but pulled a folded flyer from her tote bag and slapped it onto the table. "Anyway, you can explain later. For now, I need you to clear your schedule for tonight."
Lila picked up the flyer, her stomach flipping as she read the words Open Mic Night in bold letters. "Eve, no. Absolutely not."
"Yes," Eve countered, her tone leaving no room for argument. "It's at that cute café downtown. You love their chai lattes. Plus, it's the perfect chance for you to finally show the world what you can do."
"I'm not ready," Lila protested, panic creeping into her voice.
"You'll never feel ready," Eve said with a shrug. "That's why you just have to do it. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I could humiliate myself," Lila said flatly.
"And I'll be there to laugh with you," Eve teased, grinning. "But seriously, you're too good to keep hiding. You need this, Lila."
"She's not wrong," Arden chimed in from the corner, his smirk softening.
Lila glared at him, then back at Eve, whose determination was impenetrable. Finally, she sighed in defeat. "Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."
---
That evening, the café was alive with energy. The hum of voices mingled with the soft clink of mugs and plates, and the faint scent of coffee and pastries filled the air. Lila stood backstage, clutching the violin as if it were her last anchor to reality.
Through the small gap in the curtain, she could see the crowd—a mix of students, locals, and a few performers nervously rehearsing their pieces. Her heart raced as the announcer called her name.
"You'll be fine," Arden said, appearing beside her.
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You're not the one going out there."
He tilted his head, his gaze steady. "Remember what I told you: play with truth. That's all that matters."
Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the stage.
The lights were blinding, and the chatter of the crowd faded into a low hum. For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind blank. Then, slowly, she raised the violin to her shoulder and drew the bow across the strings.
The first notes wavered, tentative and uncertain. But as the melody unfolded, something shifted. Memories surfaced—her father's warm encouragement, the quiet nights spent practicing alone, the crushing sting of her professor's criticism. Each note carried a piece of her, raw and unfiltered.
The room fell silent, the weight of her music holding everyone in thrall. She couldn't see the faces in the crowd anymore; it was just her and the violin, the sound pouring from her soul.
When she finished, the silence lingered for a heartbeat before the applause erupted. It was thunderous, overwhelming.
Lila lowered the violin, her chest heaving. Relief and exhilaration washed over her in equal measure. She caught sight of Eve in the front row, clapping furiously, her face alight with pride.
Arden appeared at the edge of the stage, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with something akin to pride. "Not bad," he said quietly.
As Lila stepped off the stage, she felt a strange warmth in her hands. Glancing down, she noticed faint golden threads shimmering along the violin's strings, their glow subtle but unmistakable.
"Arden," she whispered as she moved backstage, "what's happening to the violin?"
His gaze darkened, his playful demeanor vanishing. "It's responding to you. The more you play, the stronger its power grows."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," he said softly, "we're running out of time."
A chill ran through Lila, but before she could press him further, Eve burst through the backstage curtain, enveloping her in a hug. "You were incredible!"
Lila forced a smile, but her mind lingered on Arden's words. Whatever was happening, it was bigger than she'd realized—and the violin was at the center of it all.