Chapter 24 Where snow waits to melt

The cold air of Vienna bit through Yui Tachibana’s scarf as she stood outside the Conservatory. Snow flurried down around her like feathers from a broken-winged bird. The courtyard fountain had frozen days ago, but its stillness made it seem alive — like it was holding its breath with her.

She hadn’t slept much. Not since she sent that letter.

Not since she heard Ren’s violin cry in the silence she had created.

Not since she realized just how much her fear had hurt him.

Inside the dorm’s small common room, Yui sipped tea that had long since gone cold. Her roommate, Amelie, hovered quietly behind her, not daring to interrupt the way Yui stared out at the snowfall like she was waiting for it to say something.

"You should write him," Amelie said gently. "He played that song like his soul was bleeding."

Yui looked down at her phone. Ren’s name at the top. No new messages, but she knew why.

He was waiting.

For her.

But not the way people wait for a reply.

He was waiting for her to return whole.

The truth was, she had fractured again.

Not broken — just scattered. It had happened when she arrived in Vienna and realized how far she'd come — not just in distance, but in identity.

No one here knew her past. No one saw the quiet girl who counted silence or carried grief like a secret melody.

And in that blank slate, she felt... lost.

Even her voice had changed.

She could sing, yes. But it felt like someone else’s song.

Until she heard Ren’s performance.

Until she heard The Night Without a Reply.

Then it all came rushing back.

The notes they’d shared. The touch of his fingers brushing hers as they exchanged pages. The rooftop. The silence filled with presence, not absence.

She wept that night. And again the next. Then finally, she wrote.

Now, Yui stood before the open studio, heart hammering. She had booked a small session — not for fame. Not for class. For him.

The mic buzzed to life.

The red light blinked.

She breathed in.

And sang:

In the quiet where your shadow stayed, I folded my heart into every phrase. Half the world away, I found the light, In a song you played into the night.

Back in Tokyo, Ren blinked as a notification popped up.

New upload by: HikariNoYoru

It was anonymous. No name. No image.

But the title...

"Where Snow Waits to Melt"

He clicked.

Her voice — raw, warm, fragile, strong — filled the space between his ribs.

She had sung for him.

Not a reply.

A promise.

He wrote back immediately.

"I’m still here. I always will be. Come back when you’re ready. Or not at all. But know this: the music we made still echoes in me."

Yui cried as she read it.

Not from sadness.

From relief.

Because even though she hadn’t asked — he still understood.

Three Weeks Later

The final winter concert at the Conservatory was a prestigious event. Yui had been asked to perform. Alone.

She declined.

Instead, she asked to play something different. A duet.

Her professor raised a brow. "You have someone coming?"

She nodded.

"Who?"

"My melody."

On the day of the performance, Ren stepped off the plane into the crisp Austrian air. He carried nothing but his violin case and Yui’s last letter folded in his coat pocket.

They met outside the hall, under falling snow.

For a moment, they just stood there.

Then she stepped forward, reached out —

—and took his hand.

Not in apology. Not in explanation.

But in music.

Their duet was unrehearsed. Improvised. Raw.

Yui sang in Japanese. Ren played in harmony.

Then she sang in English. He followed with a whisper of a counterpoint.

They built the melody together, weaving their pain and hope into a single tapestry of sound.

When the final note faded, the audience remained silent.

Not in disapproval.

But in reverence.

Then came the applause.

Thunderous.

But all they heard was each other.

Later, they sat under the stars.

Yui leaned against his shoulder.

"I thought I had to find myself here," she whispered. "But I was just... remembering."

Ren closed his eyes.

"I never stopped hearing you. Even when it hurt."

Yui smiled.

"Let’s make one more promise."

He looked at her.

"What kind?"

She whispered:

"The kind that sounds like forever."

He took her hand again.

"Then let’s write it. Together."