Chapter 2 — “The Invitation”

The strings still vibrated beneath Miyu’s fingertips when silence fell again. Her breath came quick, as if she’d just run a race. Ren leaned back against the desk, his guitar resting across his lap, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“See?” he said, breaking the hush. “That wasn’t so scary, was it?”

Miyu lowered her violin, staring at him as if he had just casually suggested jumping off a cliff. “I-I wasn’t ready. That wasn’t good.”

Ren laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “Are you kidding? That was amazing. You’ve got this… tone, you know? Smooth but strong. Like the ocean when it’s calm but you know it can roar at any second.”

Miyu blinked, heat creeping into her cheeks. No one had ever described her music like that. No one had really listened before.

Ren set the guitar aside and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. His eyes gleamed with something mischievous. “Alright, Miyu. I’ve decided.”

Her brows knit. “…Decided what?”

“You’re joining me for the Summer Music Festival.”

Miyu nearly dropped her violin. “What?!”

Ren chuckled at her reaction, clearly amused. “It’s perfect. The festival needs performers, and I was going to apply solo. But after hearing you just now? No way. We’ve gotta do this together.”

Miyu shook her head rapidly, her hair brushing against her cheeks. “N-no, that’s impossible. I can’t… I can’t perform in front of people.”

“You can,” Ren said simply, as though it were the easiest truth in the world. “You just don’t believe it yet.”

Her hands tightened around the violin. The image of her mother’s stern frown flashed in her mind. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just…” She trailed off, unsure how much to reveal.

Ren leaned back again, drumming his fingers against the desk rhythmically. “Then let me guess. Strict parents? Think music’s a waste of time?”

Miyu’s eyes widened. “…How did you—”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen it before. My cousin had the same deal. But you know what? She still plays piano now, and she’s happier than ever. Sometimes you’ve just gotta choose what makes you feel alive.”

Miyu swallowed hard. Alive. That’s how she felt when she played, the rare moments she wasn’t suffocating under silence and expectation.

Ren grinned again, leaning closer. “So, Miyu. What do you say? Let’s enter the festival together. A violin and guitar duo. Think about it—our sound would be unforgettable.”

Her heart thudded painfully. She wanted to say yes. She wanted it more than anything. But the words tangled in her throat.

“…I can’t,” she whispered.

Ren blinked. “Can’t, or won’t?”

Miyu lowered her gaze. “Either way, it’s the same.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Ren studied her with an expression she couldn’t read, half frustration, half understanding. Then, with a sigh, he picked up his guitar and slid it back into the case.

“Well,” he said lightly, though his tone carried a weight beneath it, “I won’t force you. But just so you know, the offer’s open. I’ll be waiting for your answer.”

Miyu’s chest twisted.

Ren slung the case over his shoulder and headed toward the door. At the threshold, he glanced back, his grin returning. “Oh, and Miyu?”

She looked up, startled.

“That little melody you played earlier? It’s stuck in my head now. Don’t be surprised if it shows up in one of my songs.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving only the fading echo of his words behind.

Miyu stood frozen in the empty classroom, violin still clutched in her hands.

Her melody… stuck in his head?

The thought made her cheeks burn. She pressed a hand against her chest, feeling the thrum of her heartbeat.

She had always played for herself, in the shadows, never expecting anyone to hear. Yet now, someone had. And not just anyone, a boy with a smile like sunlight and music that flowed as naturally as breathing.

Miyu closed her eyes, the memory of their brief duet replaying in her mind. The sound of guitar and violin, different yet harmonious, weaving together in a way she had never imagined.

Her lips parted, whispering words only the empty room could hear.

“…Alive.”

For the first time, the possibility of stepping into the light no longer felt entirely impossible.