The train screeched to a halt, and Aiko stepped onto the crowded platform, clutching her guitar case like a shield. The city stretched out before her-an endless maze of neon lights and cold, impersonal skyscrapers. She thought it would feel liberating, stepping into a place where no one knew her name, but instead, she felt small, adrift.
The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her shoulders. She had left behind the quiet judgment of her family, their dismissive glances whenever she mentioned her music, and the suffocating silence of her small town. This city was supposed to be her escape, her blank canvas.
But as she wandered through the labyrinth of streets, her feet aching and her confidence faltering, doubt began to creep in. Was she brave, or was she foolish? The answer seemed to hang in the air, just out of reach.
Then she saw it: a café tucked into the corner of a dimly lit street. The sign above the door read The Velvet Note, its letters faded but inviting. From inside, the faint strum of a guitar spilled out, weaving through the air like a secret.
Drawn to the sound, Aiko pushed the door open.
The café was warm, intimate-a world away from the chaos outside. The scent of coffee and old books wrapped around her like a gentle embrace. And there, in the far corner, was the source of the music: a woman with sharp features and an air of quiet intensity, her fingers moving effortlessly over the strings of her guitar.
Mio wasn't playing for anyone, not really. Her music wasn't a performance; it was a language only she spoke. The café was her refuge, a place where she could hide in plain sight, surrounded by strangers who didn't ask questions.
Her gaze flicked up when the door opened, landing on the girl who had just walked in. The newcomer had an air of uncertainty, clutching a guitar case as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. Mio's fingers stilled, and for a moment, she simply watched.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice low, almost indifferent.
Aiko hesitated, caught between retreating and stepping closer. Finally, she smiled nervously. "Your playing... it's beautiful."
Mio's brow arched, her lips curving into a faint, sardonic smile. "Thanks," she said, her tone casual but not unkind.
"I... I just moved here," Aiko offered, her voice tinged with both excitement and fear. "I'm a musician too. Or, I'm trying to be."
"Trying?" Mio leaned back, studying her. "This city eats 'trying' for breakfast. You better have something stronger than that."
Aiko's cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. "I didn't come here to be scared off."
Mio's smile deepened, something flickering in her dark eyes-amusement, perhaps, or recognition. "Bold words," she said. "Let's see if you can back them up."
She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Sit. Play something."
Aiko's heart raced as she slid into the seat. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened her guitar case, the familiar weight of the instrument both comforting and daunting.
Mio leaned back, her expression unreadable as she watched. "No pressure," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, Aiko began to play. The melody was soft and haunting, a piece she had written in the dead of night when the loneliness became too much to bear. The notes filled the air, delicate yet unwavering, carrying pieces of her soul with them.
The café seemed to hold its breath. Even the quiet clinking of coffee cups ceased as the other patrons turned to listen.
When she finished, Aiko dared a glance at Mio.
"Not bad," Mio said finally, her voice calm but her eyes betraying something deeper-approval, perhaps, or curiosity.
Aiko let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Thanks. It's... it's something I wrote a while ago. I wasn't sure if it was any good."
Mio leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady. "Music isn't about being good or bad. It's about truth. And you've got some in you."
Aiko blinked, the words sinking in. For the first time since stepping off that train, she felt seen.
As they packed up their instruments, the buzz of the café returned to normal. But something lingered in the air-a connection, fragile yet undeniable.
Before leaving, Mio scribbled something on a napkin and slid it across the table. "Open mic night," she said, her tone casual but her gaze piercing. "Tomorrow. Same place. Let's see if you're brave enough to show up."
Aiko stared at the napkin, her stomach twisting with equal parts fear and excitement. "I'll think about it," she said, though she already knew she would.
Mio smirked, slinging her guitar over her shoulder. "Good."
And with that, she was gone, leaving Aiko alone in the café, her fingers curled around the napkin, as if it were the last piece of stability in a world that felt too uncertain.
Aiko's Second Visit
The next evening, Aiko found herself standing outside The Velvet Note, the café that had somehow tugged at her heart. It wasn't grand or impressive in any conventional sense. The sign, half-lit and flickering, hung above the door as though it too were tired of waiting. The air smelled faintly of rain and wet asphalt, blending with the rich scent of roasted coffee beans drifting from inside.
Aiko hesitated for a moment, fingers brushing nervously over the edge of her guitar case. She felt small in the city's relentless chaos, but something about this place felt like the opposite of that-warm, like a secret just waiting to be discovered. She stepped inside.
The café was cozy, dimly lit with warm, amber tones that felt like an embrace. Wooden floors creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to the back, where the sound of a guitar floated through the air like an invitation. The buzz of quiet conversation and the clink of mugs faded as she approached the small stage.
Mio was there, sitting casually in the corner with her guitar resting on her knee. The light from the single lamp overhead caught in her dark hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow. Aiko stood frozen for a second, taking in the sight of her-a figure bathed in shadows, completely at ease in this world that felt so foreign to Aiko.
Mio's fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, playing a song that was as delicate as the stillness of the café around them. It wasn't a performance, it was something more intimate-like she was confiding in the guitar, her eyes closed, as if trying to lose herself in the music.
Aiko swallowed, heart pounding. She had heard people play before, but there was something in Mio's playing that made it impossible to look away. It wasn't just the melody-it was the way she made the guitar sing, how the notes seemed to capture a truth so deep that it made Aiko feel like she was hearing something she wasn't meant to.
Mio's eyes flicked open, catching Aiko standing there. She gave a slight smile, almost as if she'd been waiting for her. Aiko swallowed, a little breathless from the way the music had stirred her. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, her voice wavering slightly.
"You're not interrupting," Mio said, her gaze never leaving Aiko as she set her guitar down. There was a flicker of something in her eyes-something guarded, yet curious. "You came."
"I-I said I would," Aiko stammered, feeling more unsure than she'd care to admit. She took a step forward, her palms sweating around the strap of her guitar case.
Mio raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. "You're not running off, then?"
Aiko smiled nervously. "I guess not."
Mio chuckled, the sound low and almost teasing, and gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Sit. Play. Let's see if you're as brave as you sound."
Aiko's heart leapt into her throat. It was one thing to promise to show up, but another entirely to actually perform. Her fingers trembled as she set her guitar case down beside her. It felt like an eternity before she finally opened it, the familiar weight of the guitar offering some comfort.
The room grew still as she tuned the strings, the sharp, high-pitched twangs of the guitar cutting through the soft hum of conversation. Her hands felt unsteady, but she pressed on, adjusting the strings until the sound felt right.
Mio watched her with unwavering attention, and for the first time since stepping into the city, Aiko felt like someone was really looking at her-not just as a musician, but as a person. It was disorienting and a little frightening.
Taking a deep breath, Aiko began to play.
The first few notes were shaky, but the moment she closed her eyes and let the music guide her, everything else faded. The song she played was simple-an ode to all the things she hadn't yet said, to all the places she hadn't dared go. It was raw, a song that bled truth onto the strings.
The café seemed to hold its breath, the light flickering softly as if in rhythm with the music. Aiko's fingers danced on the frets, the notes winding through the silence, drawing her deeper into herself. She felt the music slip through her chest, the emotions she kept buried coming to the surface.
When she finished, the silence was almost suffocating. The only sound in the room was the echo of her last note, lingering in the air.
Mio didn't speak immediately. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Aiko as though she were trying to read her. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke, her voice quieter than before.
"Not bad," she said, her tone flat, but there was something else there-a hint of something more. "But don't get cocky. Not everyone who can strum a guitar is a musician."
Aiko's heart thudded in her chest, unsure if she should be offended or relieved. Her hands gripped her guitar tightly. "I'm just... trying to figure it out, you know?" Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted it to.
Mio tilted her head slightly, her eyes softening just the tiniest bit. "Trying is good. Just make sure it's worth it when you do figure it out."
Aiko blinked, confused by the unexpected shift in Mio's demeanor. "What do you mean?"
Mio didn't answer right away. She picked up her own guitar and strummed a few idle chords, letting the sound fill the space between them.
Finally, she looked up, her eyes meeting Aiko's again, and there was something deeper there now. Something unspoken.
"You'll understand when you're ready," she said, her voice low, but there was a hint of something that felt like an invitation. "But for now, don't waste your time chasing something that won't give back. Music is brutal that way."
Aiko wasn't sure what to say to that. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something she wasn't sure she was ready to face. But Mio had given her a glimpse-something more than she had expected. A challenge. A mystery.
Aiko stood up, tucking her guitar case under her arm. "I'll... see you tomorrow, then?" she said, almost uncertain if she was asking or telling.
Mio gave a slight nod, her eyes narrowing in that way that made Aiko feel like she was both being tested and seen at the same time. "Tomorrow night. Same time. Don't be late."