Chapter 5.5: — "Broken Strings" — [BONUS CHAPTER]

The music room smelled faintly of dust and varnish, the instruments lined up like forgotten soldiers along the shelves. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

Ren sat on the desk, strumming his guitar idly, the chords unfinished, like questions without answers. His eyes lit up when Miyu stepped through the door, violin case slung at her side.

“There you are,” he said, grinning. “I was starting to think you’d bailed on me. Ready to get serious about the song?”

Miyu froze in the doorway. For a heartbeat, she almost smiled. Almost. But then her parents’ voices echoed in her head.
Noise. Useless. Don’t make us regret trusting you.

Her grip on the case tightened. “Ren… I can’t.”

The grin slipped from his face. “…What do you mean?”

She looked away, forcing the words out before she could stop herself. “I give up. I’m not joining the festival. I won’t help write the song.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Ren set his guitar down slowly, staring at her. “Why not?”

Her throat tightened. The truth clawed at her chest, because my parents don’t believe in me, because they’ll never accept it. But instead, she whispered the lie they had planted in her.

“…Music is a waste of time.”

Ren flinched as if struck. His brows knitted, frustration flashing across his face. “That’s not you talking. That’s them.”

Miyu’s eyes widened, but she didn’t respond.

Ren stood, his voice sharper now. “You don’t believe that. I saw you when you played by the ocean. I heard you. That wasn’t wasted time, Miyu... that was you alive.”

Her chest twisted painfully. Tears pricked at her eyes. “Stop it—”

“No,” Ren said firmly, stepping closer. “You’re letting them chain you down. Why are you throwing away something that matters this much to you?”

“Because it doesn’t matter!” The words tore out of her like a scream, her tears finally spilling. Her violin case shook in her trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. My parents will never let me play! Do you understand? Never!”

Ren froze, his expression softening at the sight of her tears. But Miyu’s breath came ragged, and the storm inside her didn’t stop.

“So just stop, Ren.” Her voice cracked. “Stop pretending music can fix everything. It can’t. It won’t. Not for me.”

The words echoed in the room, breaking something between them.

Miyu turned before he could reply, clutching her violin case to her chest like a shield. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, quick and uneven, until the door slammed shut behind her.

Ren stood in the empty music room, the silence pressing down like a weight. His guitar rested against the desk, the unfinished chords hanging in the air.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily.
“…Damn it, Miyu.”

The notes she’d once played with him haunted his ears, melodies he couldn’t forget. He picked up the guitar again, strumming half-heartedly, trying to catch the sound of her violin in his head. But no matter what he played, the music felt hollow.

She was gone.

And for the first time, Ren realized how impossible it felt to write their song alone.