A Poem From Silence

As I clumsily put in the earbud, Lyra pressed play.

An elderly conductor gave a slight bow and took his place.

And then—the music began.

A deep clarinet opened the piece.
Trumpets and trombones followed, layering their energy into the melody.
It felt like a strange kind of duel between them.
Then came the oboes, flutes, tuba, and string instruments, all gradually joining in.
The tempo flowed slowly, with different musical voices taking turns standing out.

And then—
That sudden solo piano…

Followed by a surge of sound, drums and all—
A full symphonic eruption.

“Rhapsody in Blue,” I whispered.

Lyra turned toward me and smiled.
"Why do you think our professor chose this piece?” she asked, her tone curious.

“Because it’s a blend of classical and jazz,” I answered in the same hushed tone.

The timpani and percussion had a striking role in the crescendo.
Clearly, they were responsible for analyzing this section.

“Exactly." She said.

Unlike my kind of musical analysis, which focused mostly on “the vocalist’s tone,” this was far deeper—something I couldn’t even hope to tackle.

The 16-minute piece played through in what felt like mere seconds.

We didn’t speak, didn’t lose focus once.
It felt like experiencing a work of art.
And the pianist—
Beyond brilliant, almost transcendent.

When the music ended, I gently removed the earbud.

“So? What did you think?” Lyra whispered.

I turned to her—
And found myself caught off guard.

We were sitting very close.
Because of the shared earbuds, our faces had drawn near.

Now, with my head turned, she was only a breath away.
She too had been surprised by how close we were—her wide eyes and flushed cheeks betrayed her sudden shyness.

I quickly pulled back.

H-how long had we been sitting like that?
I hadn’t even noticed.
I’d been completely lost in the music.

“S-sorry.”

“It’s o-okay.”

We were both beet red.
It had turned into a very awkward moment.
If there had been more people around us, they definitely would’ve been staring.
Thankfully, we were alone.

“Anyway, about the piece,” I said, trying to shift focus.
“I think it’s… hmm, I don’t know how to put it—kind of utopian, maybe?”

“U-utopian?”

“Yeah. Like… it’s not strictly jazz, or classical. It’s like there’s an effort to create something new from all these separate rhythms and voices. It’s breaking down musical norms to create its own kind of order.”

It sounded overly poetic, and I knew it.
But Lyra looked at me, more surprised than amused.

“Yes. That’s actually exactly what it is. A very interesting way to put it—but totally accurate.”

We talked a bit more about the piece after that.
Even though I didn’t know much, Lyra complimented my thoughts so gently.
And I guess, I wasn’t too bad.
Still, compared to someone who had studied music since childhood, I knew my insights were minor.

And Lyra made me realize that.

Once we wrapped up the conversation, it was time to return to our table and get back to studying.

“Thanks for showing me that. It’s really a challenging and deeply focused class,” I said.
Though honestly, I’d really enjoyed our conversation more than the lesson.

“No problem. So... what kind of classes do you take?”
She asked as we stood up, sounding genuinely curious.

I was kind of happy she asked, to be honest.

“They’re basically just way harder versions of the stuff we learned in middle and high school,” I replied.

“Hmm, like what?”

Lyra leaned in slightly, clearly interested.
It was my turn now.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my physics notebook.

“Well, for example…”
I started flipping through the pages.
“In physics, stuff like force and current laws, Newton’s principles…”

“Ugh, that sounds terrifying,” Lyra said with a grimace.

“Yeah, it kind of is.” I smiled. 

“Here, I’ll show you math too—”

But I suddenly froze.

Something was very wrong.

And that “wrong” thing was sitting right there in front of me.

The notebook I had pulled out…
Wasn’t my math notebook.

At home, I had a few notebooks I reused over the years. Since I didn’t write much in them, I could keep using the same ones.

And—because I’m an idiot—I never labeled them.

The result?

This morning, while rushing, I’d grabbed the wrong one.

Instead of my math notebook, I’d brought the one filled with poems and personal thoughts—things I’d written to myself over the years.

And the page it had opened to?

“The Unexpected Spring That Entered My Life.”

My eyes widened in panic as I quickly slammed the notebook shut.

But…

Lyra had already seen it.

“U-um… what was that?” she asked as I tried to move the notebook away.
Her voice was calm, but there was clear surprise in her expression.

“I grabbed the wrong notebook. Sorry. Must’ve mixed them up.”
I was a complete fool.

“I figured that much. That’s not the problem though…”
Lyra paused.
It felt like she was weighing something.

“Do you… write poetry?”
She turned to me, her wide, curious eyes sparkling.

Ahh… this was going to be so cringe.

I’d never shown that weird little notebook to anyone.
And of course, the poem on that very first page…
One of the newer ones.
Perfect.

But there was no point lying.
What she saw was plain as day.

“Not regularly,” I admitted. “Just now and then. It’s not really a big deal—”

“Can I read it?!”

“Huh?”

Lyra’s eyes locked with mine—eager, warm, almost glowing.
She leaned in, almost too close.
We were inches apart.

“I mean, only if you’re okay with it… I don’t want to intrude,” she added quickly.
She must’ve sensed my hesitation and backed off a little.

What was this curiosity?
Was it a joke?

No.
If I’d learned anything about Lyra, it’s that…

This was her way of communicating.

And even though I felt a little vulnerable—
She was probably the only person I’d ever even consider sharing this notebook with.

“There are a lot of things in here I’m not ready to show yet… but I could share a few,” I said.

I still couldn’t believe I was saying that.
But the arrow had already left the bow.

“The one from earlier? Can we look at that?”

I swallowed hard.
What had I even written in that one?

Oh… right.
It was about her.

I wrote it when I got home after the fireworks festival.

Thinking about it now—
It had taken me three years to fill the first half of that notebook.
And only a few months to fill the rest.

Clearly, I’d been feeling a lot more lately.

“I need to check what I wrote first,” I said nervously.

“Okay…”
Lyra looked at me like an eager, curious child.

I slowly opened the notebook beside her, turned to the page, and there it was:

The Unexpected Spring That Entered My Life
There’s a path in your eyes, its end unknown,
Your gaze left me speechless—shattered, alone.
No name was whispered, no heart laid bare,
But echoes remained, lost in the air.
Are you a melody, or the trace of a breeze?
You passed right through, like pain with ease.

She wouldn’t think it was about her… r-right?