Chapter 1:
Chapter 1: I am a dead man
Connected by Melody
NOAH
"I am a dead man."
That was the only thought in my head as I slipped out into the cold Willowmori night, my guitar slung over my shoulder like a secret I could no longer carry.
The air was sharp. The streets were silent. Inside, there was Minnie who is probably asleep or pretending to be. But in all honesty I didn’t care. I needed to breathe, I needed space to think.
The news had dropped just hours ago, my parents were coming here.
And in three weeks, the impossible would happen, my medical school exam and my conservatory Jury performance were both scheduled on the same day, the 21th of July.
The world was closing in, and the only thing I could think to do was run.
I tightened my grip on the guitar strap and walked faster. The night swallowed me whole, just like it always did when I snuck out. I’d done this so many times, slipping past Minnie’s watchful eyes, that it felt almost routine. But tonight was different. Tonight, I could feel the lie I’d built around myself beginning to crack.
Willowmori at night had a strange beauty to it. The town was quiet, but not empty, the occasional flicker of streetlights. We’d moved here because of I have to attend in a medical school. That was the official reason. My father had pulled strings, made deals, given me one last chance after the fire. This town was supposed to be my so called redemption. The only medical school that would accept me.
Instead, it became my hiding place.
I glanced back over my shoulder. No one. Good.
My parents’ rules weren’t about music itself, they enjoyed music. They loved hearing it. But me playing it? Singing it? That was crossing a line. They’d never told me why, only that it was forbidden. And when I’d been caught at that nightclub gig, there’s the definition of wrong place, wrong time, smoke rising, flame burning and my guitar slung across my chest, their disappointment was worse than any punishment.
I adjusted the strap again. This guitar wasn’t even mine. One of the conservatory teachers Mr Birdwhistle, had given it to me when I showed up without an instrument. Said I had "potential." If only he knew what I’d been risking just to sit in those classes.
Ahead, the outline of the old radio station rose from the trees like a ghost. Its windows were black and empty, its roof sagging. Most people avoided it, but me? I had made it my sanctuary.
The first time I came here, it felt enormous. There were four intact floors of dust and forgotten equipment. A place that once broadcast sound to thousands now holding nothing but echoes and rust. My friends and I had turned it into our base, broken couches, half-working TV, snack wrappers still left, and also her MP3 player, clearly Cassandra forgot them.
Nothing like home sweet home.
Up on the top floor, the stars were always there.
That’s where I was headed now.
I stepped over a fallen beam and pushed the door open. It creaked, loud enough to make me wince. Inside, the air was cold and smelled faintly of rust and rain. I climbed the stairs two at a time until I reached the top.
The tent we’d set up was still there, flapping slightly in the night breeze. I sat in the old wooden chair, the city lights glinting in the distance. My guitar rested against my knees.
Too much was pressing in on me, the Jury exam, the OCSE, my parents, my lie, Minnie. Karma was circling closer. All I’d ever wanted was music. Was that really so much to ask?
I hugged myself for a moment, then cradled the guitar instead. My fingers found the strings automatically, like they always did.
A quiet melody spilled out into the night, trembling at first, then steadier.
This was the only place where I could breathe. The only place where I was truly myself.
Under the stars, I played. And for a moment, the weight lifted.
Tomorrow it would crash back down. But tonight, at least, it was just me, the stars and the music and nothing else.
As I played the guitar, I looked over the town near the sea, a town that never sleeps. Lights flickered along the water, streets alive with people who i’d met. So many stories unfolding, yet here I was, unable to express even a shred of joy.
Each note I strummed reminded me of the mess I’d created, the secret I’d built out of desperation and lies. Since the very first time I stepped here. Every vibration carried the weight of it: the fact that while I was here, chasing music at the conservatory, someone else was sitting in my place at the medical school, pretending to be me.
Sometimes I wondered how long it would last before everything came crashing down.
I have been walking this path for eight months straight.
And with that thought came the weight of promises, promises I made to my friends, to the people who helped me pull off this impossible charade, and to myself. I needed to make it worth something. I needed to prove that this lie was for a reason.
But playing music in private is one thing. Sharing it, performing it, letting my voice carry… that was something I still struggled with. My hands could find the chords, steady and confident, like legs supporting me. But my voice? It was supposed to hold everything else up, my fear, my hope, my rebellion and most days, it felt too heavy.
I closed my eyes, letting the sound fill the empty spaces around me. The guitar hummed beneath my fingers, warm and forgiving, a reminder that some things didn’t need permission.
Yet even here, in this sanctuary, doubt crept in. Could I stand in front of the jury and sing without cracking? Could I look my parents in the eye and show them the truth of who I was? Or would the moment come when everything I’d hidden would unravel in front of them, leaving me exposed?
The melody faltered for a heartbeat, and I paused, pressing my forehead to the strings. The music was my shield, my only shield, and for a few moments, I let it carry.
I wondered what Minnie would think if she realized I’d sneaked out at night. She’d probably imagine I was out here with some girl, laughing and fooling around or something or committing a crime.
Honestly… she is like the sister I never had. Annoying, but caring almost unbearable way. She fussed over every detail of my life, but in her own way, she genuinely wanted the best for me. Especially because that’s what she was trained for, to take my mother’s place whenever she isn’t available. I basically known her since forever.
I kept strumming, letting my fingers move over the strings until the melody felt steady enough. Then, taking a deep breath, I decided it was time to try my vocals.
I pulled a half-written song from my bag, pages curling at the edges, the words jagged. With my guitar resting against my chest, I let the first note slip out. Then the second, and the third, until the notes started to form something more… real.
The song that I wrote, was a confession I couldn’t say aloud, a secret I couldn’t tell anyone, not even my parents. Yet here, under the cracked roof, with the stars above and the town sprawling below, it belonged only to me.
This music, this fragile honesty, was the only place I could be fully alive.
I wanted to sing, but when I read the words, a wave of doubt hit me. Am I any good at this? Would my parents ever accept this part of me?
I stuttered over the first line, my fingers tightening around the neck of the guitar. I looked up at the dark sky and whispered, more to myself than anyone else, Mother, Father… why can’t you accept this part of me? What has music done to you?
The weight of everything pressed down on me, My chest tightened. I was about to crumble again under it all.
But then I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. I reminded myself. doubt had no place here. Not tonight. Not while the music still lived in me.
I couldn’t let fear win. I had to try.
I looked back down at the sheets, my fingers strumming the first chord. The guitar hummed beneath me, a lifeline, a bridge to the voice I’d been holding back. And then I opened my mouth.
For just one night, I won’t feel trapped. I won’t feel like a liar, or a failure, or a "dead man." I’ll feel… alive.
"Not too loud…
Not too fast…
Just enough…
For the silence to last…
Another day, another lie
Yes, I studied…
Yes, I’ll try…
I hold my dreams behind my teeth
Afraid they’ll burn the air I breathe.
The stethoscope waits on the shelf
It’s not for me, it’s for themselves
Their hopes are walls, I pace between
While songs grow wild behind the screen.
These muted strings!
Still learn to shout
When no one hears, I still pour out
A thousand chords beneath the skin
Of someone I’m not allowed to begin.
I know they care, I know they do
But I wish they’d see the boy they knew
Could heal a heart…
With something true…
Not scalpels, but a song or two.
The assistant knocks, I hide the sound
A patient smile, my mask unbound
I nod, I nod, I promise well
Then strum my truth, in my private shell
Conservatory, my secret sky
A single hallway where I fly
And yet I flinch with every call
As if my song’s some kind of fall
These muted strings!
Still find their way
Through all the things I cannot say
I’m not a rebel. I’m not a shame.
I just don’t fit their silent frame
I want to make them proud someday
In my own light, not theirs, but gray
Not perfect white…
Not surgeon clean…
Just messy, flawed and true to me.
Maybe there’s someone who’ll hear
A voice like mine, and draw it near
Someone who knows how silence sings
And dares to strum these muted strings.
Not a doctor, not a king…
Just someone real, who makes me sing…Through… muted strings."
"I am a dead man."
That was the only thought in my head as I slipped out into the cold Willowmori night, my guitar slung over my shoulder like a secret I could no longer carry.
The air was sharp. The streets were silent. Inside, there was Minnie who is probably asleep or pretending to be. But in all honesty I didn’t care. I needed to breathe, I needed space to think.
The news had dropped just hours ago, my parents were coming here.
And in three weeks, the impossible would happen, my medical school exam and my conservatory Jury performance were both scheduled on the same day, the 21th of July.
The world was closing in, and the only thing I could think to do was run.
I tightened my grip on the guitar strap and walked faster. The night swallowed me whole, just like it always did when I snuck out. I’d done this so many times, slipping past Minnie’s watchful eyes, that it felt almost routine. But tonight was different. Tonight, I could feel the lie I’d built around myself beginning to crack.
Willowmori at night had a strange beauty to it. The town was quiet, but not empty, the occasional flicker of streetlights. We’d moved here because of I have to attend in a medical school. That was the official reason. My father had pulled strings, made deals, given me one last chance after the fire. This town was supposed to be my so called redemption. The only medical school that would accept me.
Instead, it became my hiding place.
I glanced back over my shoulder. No one. Good.
My parents’ rules weren’t about music itself, they enjoyed music. They loved hearing it. But me playing it? Singing it? That was crossing a line. They’d never told me why, only that it was forbidden. And when I’d been caught at that nightclub gig, there’s the definition of wrong place, wrong time, smoke rising, flame burning and my guitar slung across my chest, their disappointment was worse than any punishment.
I adjusted the strap again. This guitar wasn’t even mine. One of the conservatory teachers Mr Birdwhistle, had given it to me when I showed up without an instrument. Said I had "potential." If only he knew what I’d been risking just to sit in those classes.
Ahead, the outline of the old radio station rose from the trees like a ghost. Its windows were black and empty, its roof sagging. Most people avoided it, but me? I had made it my sanctuary.
The first time I came here, it felt enormous. There were four intact floors of dust and forgotten equipment. A place that once broadcast sound to thousands now holding nothing but echoes and rust. My friends and I had turned it into our base, broken couches, half-working TV, snack wrappers still left, and also her MP3 player, clearly Cassandra forgot them.
Nothing like home sweet home.
Up on the top floor, the stars were always there.
That’s where I was headed now.
I stepped over a fallen beam and pushed the door open. It creaked, loud enough to make me wince. Inside, the air was cold and smelled faintly of rust and rain. I climbed the stairs two at a time until I reached the top.
The tent we’d set up was still there, flapping slightly in the night breeze. I sat in the old wooden chair, the city lights glinting in the distance. My guitar rested against my knees.
Too much was pressing in on me, the Jury exam, the OCSE, my parents, my lie, Minnie. Karma was circling closer. All I’d ever wanted was music. Was that really so much to ask?
I hugged myself for a moment, then cradled the guitar instead. My fingers found the strings automatically, like they always did.
A quiet melody spilled out into the night, trembling at first, then steadier.
This was the only place where I could breathe. The only place where I was truly myself.
Under the stars, I played. And for a moment, the weight lifted.
Tomorrow it would crash back down. But tonight, at least, it was just me, the stars and the music and nothing else.
As I played the guitar, I looked over the town near the sea, a town that never sleeps. Lights flickered along the water, streets alive with people who i’d met. So many stories unfolding, yet here I was, unable to express even a shred of joy.
Each note I strummed reminded me of the mess I’d created, the secret I’d built out of desperation and lies. Since the very first time I stepped here. Every vibration carried the weight of it: the fact that while I was here, chasing music at the conservatory, someone else was sitting in my place at the medical school, pretending to be me.
Sometimes I wondered how long it would last before everything came crashing down.
I have been walking this path for eight months straight.
And with that thought came the weight of promises, promises I made to my friends, to the people who helped me pull off this impossible charade, and to myself. I needed to make it worth something. I needed to prove that this lie was for a reason.
But playing music in private is one thing. Sharing it, performing it, letting my voice carry… that was something I still struggled with. My hands could find the chords, steady and confident, like legs supporting me. But my voice? It was supposed to hold everything else up, my fear, my hope, my rebellion and most days, it felt too heavy.
I closed my eyes, letting the sound fill the empty spaces around me. The guitar hummed beneath my fingers, warm and forgiving, a reminder that some things didn’t need permission.
Yet even here, in this sanctuary, doubt crept in. Could I stand in front of the jury and sing without cracking? Could I look my parents in the eye and show them the truth of who I was? Or would the moment come when everything I’d hidden would unravel in front of them, leaving me exposed?
The melody faltered for a heartbeat, and I paused, pressing my forehead to the strings. The music was my shield, my only shield, and for a few moments, I let it carry.
I wondered what Minnie would think if she realized I’d sneaked out at night. She’d probably imagine I was out here with some girl, laughing and fooling around or something or committing a crime.
Honestly… she is like the sister I never had. Annoying, but caring almost unbearable way. She fussed over every detail of my life, but in her own way, she genuinely wanted the best for me. Especially because that’s what she was trained for, to take my mother’s place whenever she isn’t available. I basically known her since forever.
I kept strumming, letting my fingers move over the strings until the melody felt steady enough. Then, taking a deep breath, I decided it was time to try my vocals.
I pulled a half-written song from my bag, pages curling at the edges, the words jagged. With my guitar resting against my chest, I let the first note slip out. Then the second, and the third, until the notes started to form something more… real.
The song that I wrote, was a confession I couldn’t say aloud, a secret I couldn’t tell anyone, not even my parents. Yet here, under the cracked roof, with the stars above and the town sprawling below, it belonged only to me.
This music, this fragile honesty, was the only place I could be fully alive.
I wanted to sing, but when I read the words, a wave of doubt hit me. Am I any good at this? Would my parents ever accept this part of me?
I stuttered over the first line, my fingers tightening around the neck of the guitar. I looked up at the dark sky and whispered, more to myself than anyone else, Mother, Father… why can’t you accept this part of me? What has music done to you?
The weight of everything pressed down on me, My chest tightened. I was about to crumble again under it all.
But then I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. I reminded myself. doubt had no place here. Not tonight. Not while the music still lived in me.
I couldn’t let fear win. I had to try.
I looked back down at the sheets, my fingers strumming the first chord. The guitar hummed beneath me, a lifeline, a bridge to the voice I’d been holding back. And then I opened my mouth.
For just one night, I won’t feel trapped. I won’t feel like a liar, or a failure, or a "dead man." I’ll feel… alive.
"Not too loud…
Not too fast…
Just enough…
For the silence to last…
Another day, another lie
Yes, I studied…
Yes, I’ll try…
I hold my dreams behind my teeth
Afraid they’ll burn the air I breathe.
The stethoscope waits on the shelf
It’s not for me, it’s for themselves
Their hopes are walls, I pace between
While songs grow wild behind the screen.
These muted strings!
Still learn to shout
When no one hears, I still pour out
A thousand chords beneath the skin
Of someone I’m not allowed to begin.
I know they care, I know they do
But I wish they’d see the boy they knew
Could heal a heart…
With something true…
Not scalpels, but a song or two.
The assistant knocks, I hide the sound
A patient smile, my mask unbound
I nod, I nod, I promise well
Then strum my truth, in my private shell
Conservatory, my secret sky
A single hallway where I fly
And yet I flinch with every call
As if my song’s some kind of fall
These muted strings!
Still find their way
Through all the things I cannot say
I’m not a rebel. I’m not a shame.
I just don’t fit their silent frame
I want to make them proud someday
In my own light, not theirs, but gray
Not perfect white…
Not surgeon clean…
Just messy, flawed and true to me.
Maybe there’s someone who’ll hear
A voice like mine, and draw it near
Someone who knows how silence sings
And dares to strum these muted strings.
Not a doctor, not a king…
Just someone real, who makes me sing…Through… muted strings."
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