Elliot's fingers twitched as he stared at the faded sheet music. The notes were unmistakable—his handwriting, his composition, his past. But how had it ended up in the hands of a teenage girl he had never met?
His voice was tight when he asked, "Where did you get this?"
Iris smirked, twirling the harmonica between her fingers. "Found it."
"Found it where?"
She shrugged. "Around."
Elliot narrowed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for games, but something told him that pressing too hard would get him nowhere. Instead, he exhaled, forcing his pulse to slow.
"You don't just 'find' something like this," he said, his voice lower now. "This piece never left my hands."
Iris tilted her head, considering him. "Maybe you dropped it."
He scoffed. "I didn't."
"Then maybe someone else did."
Elliot clenched his jaw. He didn't like this. The past was supposed to stay buried. He had worked hard to make sure of it. And yet, here it was, resurfacing in the hands of a girl with sharp eyes and too many secrets.
He glanced back at the piano, its chipped keys covered in dust. For a fleeting second, he imagined sitting down, letting his fingers trace familiar patterns. But no. That life was gone.
Iris watched him closely. "You're scared of it, aren't you?"
Elliot's head snapped toward her. "What?"
She gestured at the piano. "You keep looking at it. Like it's some kind of monster."
"I'm not scared," he said flatly.
Iris smirked. "Then play something."
"I don't play anymore."
She held up the sheet music. "Seems like a waste, don't you think? Writing something this beautiful and never letting anyone hear it?"
Elliot's chest tightened. The words cut deeper than they should have. He had spent the past ten years pretending that part of him didn't exist. He had convinced himself that it didn't matter.
But Iris had found the one thing that still tied him to the person he used to be.
And he hated her for it.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked toward the window. He didn't have to explain himself. He didn't owe her anything.
"Running away?" she called after him.
Elliot froze.
Something in her voice—mocking, but not unkind—made his shoulders tense. He wanted to ignore her. He wanted to disappear back into his quiet, predictable world.
Instead, he turned just enough to meet her gaze. "Go home, Iris."
She grinned. "Make me."
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, before climbing out of the window.
As he walked back to his apartment, the melody of his own forgotten song followed him into the night.