Chapter 3: — “First Notes"

Miyu sat at her desk, the soft scratch of her pencil the only sound in her room. The textbook before her was open to a page filled with equations, but the numbers blurred into meaningless patterns. Her gaze kept drifting toward the violin case resting against the wall.

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. Focus. She had a math test tomorrow, and her parents would check her scores as soon as they were released. Music wouldn’t help her here.

Yet Ren’s voice echoed stubbornly in her mind.
“Our sound would be unforgettable.”

Her fingers itched with the memory of their brief duet, the way his guitar had answered her violin. She had never played with anyone before, and yet the feeling had been… intoxicating.

A knock came at her door, startling her.
“Miyu, are you studying?” her mother’s voice called from the hallway.

“Yes,” Miyu answered quickly.

“Good. Don’t stay up too late. You need rest to keep your grades up.”

The footsteps retreated. Miyu lowered her pencil, her chest tightening. Her parents never asked if she was happy, only if she was achieving. And every time she thought about music, guilt pressed down on her like a heavy stone.

Still, her eyes drifted back to the violin case. Slowly, almost against her own will, she reached for it.

—

The next afternoon, Ren was waiting by the school’s back steps, his guitar slung over his shoulder as always. He spotted Miyu instantly, waving as if they were old friends.

“Miyu! I knew you’d come.”

She blinked. “I never said—”

“Yeah, yeah, but your eyes yesterday said otherwise.” He grinned. “C’mon, let’s find a spot.”

She followed reluctantly as he led her to the old music room. It was rarely used anymore, its instruments gathering dust, but the acoustics still held a gentle echo that gave every note a lingering warmth.

Ren set his case down, pulling out the guitar with practiced ease. “Alright, let’s start simple. I’ll play a progression, you just… weave in whatever you feel.”

Miyu stiffened. “Whatever I feel?”

“Yeah,” Ren said, already strumming a bright, rolling chord. “Music’s not math. There’s no one right answer. Just trust your gut.”

Her grip tightened on her violin. She wasn’t used to this. All her life, music had been sheet notes, practice drills, competitions judged by precision. Whatever she felt? That was far too reckless.

Still, she raised her bow and tried.

The violin’s voice emerged, clear, precise, almost stiff. She followed the chords carefully, too carefully, her notes sharp edges against the flowing strum.

Ren stopped suddenly, chuckling. “Miyu, you sound like you’re fighting me.”

Her cheeks burned. “I-I’m just trying to keep up.”

He shook his head. “Don’t keep up. Dance with me. It’s not about hitting the right notes, it’s about conversation. Music’s like… talking without words. Let me say something, then you reply.”

Miyu hesitated. “That’s… strange.”

“Strange is good,” Ren said, flashing that infuriating grin. “Strange is where the fun is.”

He strummed again, this time slower, a soft rhythm like a heartbeat. He nodded toward her.

Miyu inhaled, bow trembling as she lowered it to the strings. She answered with a hesitant phrase, gentle, almost questioning.

Ren’s grin widened. “There you go.” He responded with a new chord, brighter.

Something clicked.

Her bow moved again, less rigid this time, shaping a melody around his guitar. The room filled with their back-and-forth, uncertain at first, then slowly more fluid.

Miyu’s heart raced, not from fear but exhilaration. For once, she wasn’t reciting from memory—she was speaking.

When they finally stopped, both were laughing breathlessly.

“That,” Ren said, pointing at her with his pick, “was magic.”

Miyu shook her head, still flushed. “It was messy.”

“Messy is real,” Ren replied. “Messy is alive.”

The words struck something deep in her. Alive. That same word again.

Before she could respond, Ren leaned back against the desk. “So, what do you say? Ready to sign up for the festival?”

Miyu froze, her stomach twisting. The thought of a stage, of an audience, of her parents finding out, panic threatened to crush her.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted.

Ren smiled softly this time, without teasing. “That’s okay. We’ll keep playing. One step at a time.”

Miyu lowered her gaze, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

Maybe, just maybe, she could take that step.