The Melody Born of the Sea

The violin rested on the workbench, bathed in the golden light filtering through the workshop window. His hands, worn by the years, delicately brushed over the swollen wood, instinctively assessing the damage. Forty years of repairing instruments had given him an almost supernatural sensitivity. His instinct hadn’t been wrong. Despite its prolonged stay in saltwater, it could still be saved.

"Maëlle," he murmured, lightly touching the engraved initials. Time had passed, but the pain remained intact, buried under layers of everyday life and silence.

Éloi took a deep breath and began the restoration work. First, carefully disassembling the parts, cleaning each element with almost religious care. The soundboard had a slight crack that would need filling. The pegs were warped, the strings irretrievable. The varnish had chipped in some places. Nothing he couldn’t repair.

As his hands moved with steady precision, his mind drifted back to the past, like a boat detached from its anchor — a little girl with fiery red hair, illuminated by the setting sun. She ran along the beach, her bare feet leaving ephemeral footprints in the damp sand. Maëlle loved starfish. She said they were the little sisters of the stars in the sky, fallen to Earth to watch over children while their older sisters slept.

"Are you coming, Éloi ?" she would shout. "We’re going to be late to see the starfishs!"

He smiled, remembering his younger self, shy and reserved, always in the shadow of that lively, radiant little girl. Maëlle had arrived in the village one spring, the only child of Antoine Legoff, a new fisherman who had settled after marrying a local woman. She wore a coral-colored dress, dotted with tiny turquoise starfish. Her flaming hair seemed to capture all the morning light. Even the seagulls had fallen silent, as if to greet her arrival.

"Say, if we make a wish on a starfish, do you think it comes true twice as fast ?" she giggled toward Éloi, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

From the very first day, she had decided that Éloi would be her friend. He had no choice but to accept.

Days passed, then weeks, then months. Éloi and Maëlle became inseparable. Two carefree children, running along the cliffs, exploring the caves at low tide, collecting treasures from the sea.

The man he had become smiled, remembering their first encounter with music. He must have been nine, she barely eight. Maëlle had returned from a trip to Paris with her parents, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Look, Éloi!" she had cried, showing him a small black case.

Inside, nestled in midnight blue velvet, was a small student violin.

Her father had bought it for her during the trip. She had been so proud of it, eager to share her newfound passion. Music was her new world, and she wanted to share it with everyone, especially him.

Seasons passed, and with them, the innocence of childhood. Maëlle had become a promising young violinist. Her music teacher, who came specially from the neighboring town, kept saying she had a rare gift, a special sensitivity. Their friendship had transformed into something deeper, more troubling. He recalled their walks on the cliffs, when Maëlle, at fifteen, would talk about her dreams with a passion that fascinated him.

"Imagine, Éloi," she would say, walking like a tightrope walker on the steep edge, arms spread wide as if to take flight, "playing in the greatest halls in the world! Making hundreds of people tremble with my violin!"

He admired her in silence, torn between awe at her life force and the fear of watching her leave. He had never wanted to leave this village, this ocean, these cliffs. His whole world was here, while hers seemed to stretch far beyond the horizon.

He wiped away a tear that had fallen on his age-worn cheek. These memories he had tried to bury for years resurfaced in a sweet melancholy. He resumed his work on the violin, gently sanding the wood to prepare for the repair of the crack.

Lost in thought, he now remembered a particularly hot summer day when they had taken refuge in a small deserted cove. Maëlle was improvising on her violin, a piece that was dedicated to him while he listened, lying on the sand. An unknown partita that had sent chills down his spine.

The warmth of the sand slowly penetrated his skin, and the air, saturated with salt, vibrated around them like a crystal sheet. Never had Éloi felt so free, so ephemeral, like that moment suspended between sky and sea. The melody, almost childlike at first, had come to her naturally. Each arpeggio seemed to match the breath of the wind, each trill blended with the foam’s sparkle. Sitting on the sand, Éloi had closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away like seaweed in the current.

"What's the name of this piece ?" Éloi had asked.

Maëlle thought for a moment, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"I don’t know... It’s a melody born from here, you see ? From the sea, the wind, this light."

She placed a hand on her heart.

"I’d rather wait. Maybe one day, the ocean will give it a name."

That melody had become their secret, their language. A promise for the future as well, for Maëlle was talking more and more about leaving to study music in Paris, and that melody would be their link when distance separated them. They had no way of knowing then that life would take them on different paths, but the melody would always connect them, like the sea connecting the land to the sky.

"I’m going to audition for the conservatory, Éloi," she had told him, her eyes shining. "Papa finally agreed."

He had felt his heart tear between joy for her and the fear of losing her. But he had smiled, hugged her close, and told her he would support her choices.

He gently caressed the wood of the violin. It wasn’t just an instrument he was restoring; it was a piece of his past, a fragment of his heart long lost.

"You will live again," he promised to the memory. "And you’ll play our melody again."