Out of Tune

Lalin stopped at the music room's entrance, her shadow extending far across the worn parquet, and she looked inside. She gasped at what she saw: Kiet Srisawat crouched on the floor, his legs crossed, the violin held in his lap like a wounded bird. As though he could bring life back into the splintered wood with just a little care, his fingers traced the jagged fissure splintering its surface, each touch infused with a tenderness that verged on respect. The air in the room was thick with the musty smell of dust and the worn tang of ancient wood, creating a hush that pressed against her ears. The scenario was painted in pleasant hues that belied the tension boiling underneath them as the afternoon sun slanted through the large windows, casting muted gold across the room.

Kiet's head snapped up when she adjusted her weight and heard the floors creak faintly beneath her sneakers. A glimmer of steel in the midst of lethargy, his eyes met hers, clouded with fatigue but glinting with a tenacity she had never seen before. Her voice was firm but gentle, piercing the silence like a silk thread. "I thought you might need some help," she murmured.

Faint lines were etched into Kiet's weary face as his brow wrinkled and a wave of surprise passed across his features. "You don't have to," he said in a clipped, circumspect tone. "It's not your problem."

Lalin entered, and with a soft thud that echoed in the silence, she pushed the door closed behind her. "Maybe not," she remarked thoughtfully as she walked in the door, "but I'm here anyway."

With his fingers still lingering over the violin's wound, he hesitated for a while before nodding grudgingly to the patch of worn carpet next to him. Her bare skin felt rough on the tattered fibers as she dropped to the ground, her knees brushing against them. She looked down at the instrument, its deep split cutting through the wood, a shattered, raw wound that made her chest hurt, a reflection of the fractures she carried inside. She said, "Do you know how to fix it?" in a voice that was almost audible above a whisper, as though the query may break the delicate silence.

Kiet's fingers quivered slightly over the damage as he let out a quiet, controlled breath that disturbed the air between them. He answered, "I've seen my uncle do it a few times," with deliberate care. "It's not impossible, but it'll take time."

Lalin carefully delved into her backpack and pulled out a little toolkit she had taken from the art department. The small box was filled with tiny brushes and screwdrivers, and the metal edges gleamed in the gentle light. She placed it between them and added, "I brought these," "Figured we might need them."

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, softening the harsh lines of his face as his eyes expanded a little. "You're prepared."

"Always," she answered, her voice lighter than the weight she was carrying, a glimmer of humor penetrating the darkness like a stray ray of sunlight. "Let's get started."

They settled into a rhythm, moving with deliberate care and purpose in a quiet dance. With his hands firm despite the slight tightness that rippled through his jaw, Kiet dipped a thin brush into a vial of wood glue and applied a thin, gleaming layer along the fissure. As the adhesive soaked into the wound, Lalin kept the edges parallel by softly but firmly pushing the pieces together. In addition to the constant tang of rosin that clung to the air like a memory, the room was filled with the harsh, biting smell of glue. Only the occasional whispered command—"Hold it here," "A bit more pressure"—or a gentle hum of encouragement disturbed their quiet, which was a cozy cocoon that covered them.

Kiet leaned back and wiped his hands on a rag smeared with gray and brown streaks as the glue started to solidify and its sheen faded to a matte finish. He said, "Now we wait," in a deep, rumbling voice that blended into the silence.

Lalin nodded while continuing to stare at the violin, whose repaired break was evidence of their silent effort. "How long?"

"Overnight, at least," he answered, his shoulders moving as though he were letting go of something invisible. "Then we can sand it down, maybe touch up the varnish."

She observed him closely, taking in the shadows that gathered under his eyes and the slight slouch in his stance. "You look exhausted."

With a tight shrug, he protected himself from her inspection. "I haven't had much sleep. I've been considering the possible culprit.

Lalin's jaw tightened as a sudden, searing spark of wrath ignited in her chest. She added, "I still can't believe someone would be that cruel," her voice growing sharper as it sliced like a dagger into the silence of the room.

Kiet's eyes narrowed and his face darkened as he spoke in a barely audible whisper. It's not merely inhumane. It's intimate.

Between the need to console and the dread of going too far, she reached out and kept her hand hovering over his arm. After pausing, her fingers moved back and curled into her lap. She responded, "We'll figure it out," in a softer yet determined tone. "But for now, let's focus on fixing what's in front of us."

After looking into her eyes for a long, tense period, he nodded in silent agreement. "Yes. one action at a time.

As the tension eased like a wave receding from the coast, they talked about the duet, which had been on Lalin's mind ever since Kiet had originally proposed it. The idea of performing together was both thrilling and terrifying, so she had been thinking about it. She remembered spending hours in the dance class, trying out moves to songs that had been in her brain, her body reacting in ways that hadn't happened in months, a rediscovering of movement in the midst of the lingering shadow of her fear.

"I think we should do it," she finally answered, her resolution taking root and her voice firm despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Kiet's tired visage flashed with surprise as his eyebrows rose. "The duet?"

Her resolve solidified like clay in the sun as she nodded. "Yes. I'd want to give it a shot.

After studying her for a minute, a genuine, gentle, and unguarded smile appeared, illuminating his features with a warmth she had never witnessed before. He responded, "Alright," his voice rising with a low sigh of anticipation. "Let's make it happen."

For the next hour, they drew plans together, their voices mingling in a rare moment of excitement that brought a fresh vitality to the room. Kiet suggested a composition that combined contemporary rhythms with traditional Thai melodies, a sound that would support Lalin's flowing dancing like a steady hand from a partner. Her motions spun a tale of their own, a tapestry of hardship and comfort, as she responded with choreography that woven through the music. Their shared spark was framed by the somber presence of the broken violin, which lay forgotten next to them.

Lalin looked at the clock, which was ticking away to nightfall, as the sun sank lower, creating long shadows that spread across the floor like fingers. She remarked, grudgingly dragging herself out of their imaginative trance, "I should go home." "My parents will start asking questions if I'm late."

With a solemn look and a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, Kiet nodded. "I appreciate your assistance today. It has great significance.

Lalin got up and brushed the dust off her skirt, causing tiny particles to fly into the light. "Of course," she replied, pausing as a thought escaped her before she could grasp it. "We're in this together, right?"

She flinched, remembering how she hated cliches, but Kiet smiled back, his eyes softened by a soothing warmth. He answered, "Yeah," with a serene assurance in his voice. "Together."

With her palm resting on the frame, she hesitated at the door before grabbing her luggage. "See you tomorrow?"

His voice echoed, "Tomorrow," the word lingering between them like a dropped note.