Chapter 5: — “The Rift"

The night air was cool against Miyu’s cheeks as she walked along the quiet streets, violin case clutched close to her side. Streetlamps buzzed faintly, their yellow glow reflecting off the asphalt, while cicadas sang in the shadows of trees.

Her heart was still fluttering from practice with Ren. The way the music had flowed, the warmth of his grin, the faint brush of his hand against hers, it all replayed over and over in her mind like a song she couldn’t stop humming.

For once, the walk home didn’t feel heavy.

Her parents would be gone, like always, working late shifts. She’d sneak inside quietly, hide the violin case in her room, and no one would ever know she’d been out.

That’s how it had always been.

But tonight… was different.

The living room light was on.

Miyu froze in the doorway, her breath catching. That light never burned this late. She slipped off her shoes slowly, the weight of unease pressing into her stomach.

“...Miyu?”

Her mother’s voice. Sharp.

Miyu turned, violin case still in her grip. Her mother stood in the hallway, arms crossed, expression tight with suspicion. A moment later, her father appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, his gaze immediately locking onto the case in Miyu’s hands.

Silence.

Then, her mother’s lips thinned. “I knew it.”

The words cut through Miyu’s chest like a blade.

“You’ve been wasting your time again,” her father said, his voice low, controlled in a way that felt more dangerous than shouting. His eyes narrowed on the violin case. “So this is where you disappear to after school.”

Miyu’s fingers tightened around the handle until her knuckles went white. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Her mother stepped closer, eyes flashing. “We told you, Miyu. Music is a hobby. Something to leave behind in childhood. You’re too old to be playing with these fantasies.”

“It’s not—” Miyu’s voice cracked. She swallowed, forcing the words out. “It’s not a fantasy. It’s—”

“Useless,” her father interrupted, his tone final. “Violin won’t get you into university. It won’t secure a stable job. You need to focus on reality, not… noise.”

Noise.

The word stabbed deeper than anything else could have.

Miyu’s chest burned, a storm of words pressing against her lips. But her parents’ gazes were walls, unyielding and immovable. They didn’t want to understand.

Her mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Miyu, we work late every night for your future. To give you chances we never had. And you—” her voice trembled with controlled frustration— “you throw it away chasing music?”

“I’m not throwing it away!” Miyu’s voice rose before she could stop herself. Her throat felt raw. “Music is the only thing that makes me—” She cut herself off, the word alive trembling on her tongue.

Her parents stared at her in stunned silence. The moment stretched, heavy and unbearable.

Then her father exhaled slowly, his face hardening. “Enough. Put that violin away. I don’t want to see it again.”

Her mother’s gaze softened slightly, but her voice was no gentler. “Please, Miyu. Don’t make us regret trusting you.”

Miyu’s hands shook as she clutched the violin case tighter. She wanted to scream, to argue, to tell them that this instrument wasn’t just wood and strings... it was her.

But the words collapsed inside her, crushed beneath years of silence.

“…Good night,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried down the hall and into her room, shutting the door with trembling hands.

Inside the quiet darkness, Miyu leaned against the door, tears blurring her vision. Her violin case pressed against her chest like a fragile heartbeat.

They didn’t understand. They never would.

Yet as her tears fell, one thought burned stubbornly through the ache.

Ren’s grin, his words echoing like a promise.
“Sometimes you’ve just gotta choose what makes you feel alive.”

Her parents could call it useless. They could call it noise. But to Miyu, music was life.

And she wasn’t ready to give it up.