Aika - Unauthorized Harmony

Caleb learned the chorus in one night.

Not only that, he improved it. He added a twist that lifted the melody even higher, in a way that made my chest feel tight and light at the same time.

Of course he did. Of course Mr. Perfect Voice and Perfect Face knew exactly how to shape the song. Didn’t he even think of asking me “oh when you wrote this about the song, what do you mean by that?” But oh no, he got it all right away. Life is just unfair like that. He’s God’s chosen one, afterall. 

I tried not to listen in as he and the trainees gathered in the café during the afternoon lull. The church-sponsored café meant church boys were always around when they’re not on outreaches, so I was used to it. 

Today, they were just singing and making a musical out of the cafe. Singing my corrected chorus very well in particular.

‘Harmonize on that part!’ one trainee said.

‘Caleb, do the higher line!’

‘Your voice suits the lift!’

Oh they sound so good, I wish I can join.

One guy scrapped his guitar across the floor and I nearly dropped the tray I was carrying. I felt bad for the poor musical instrument. I ducked behind the espresso machine and peeked through the steam like a criminal. They were all sitting around a table, lyric sheets scattered, humming and adjusting beats. A small friendly choir workshop. And at it’s center, Caleb. Again.

His eyes were bright. Jawline obnoxiously sharp, as usual. Curly hair that looks like bed hair, but also probably also styled like that. Voice like the smoothest honey melting into warm bread.

He sang the chorus on his own. My chorus. Well, technically his. But improved by me. Inspired by me. Touched by me. 

I hate him. No, I hated that I was impressed.

‘You’re scowling at the coffee machine,’ Miho-san whispered beside me, making me squeal a little.

‘I’m not scowling,’ I lied.

‘You look like the coffee machine stole your cats.’

‘I—! Uh… Well…’ With no words to defend myself with, I scurried off to the back. 

Don’t care. Don’t get involved. Don’t be proud of him. Don’t be happy he used your suggestion. 

The chorus swelled. Without permission, my heart joined singing with them. NO. Absolutely not. 

I retreated to the back and slapped some cold water into my face. Lock in Aika. Stay low.

*****

The next day, when the café was less busy, I slipped out the back to take the trash. The cats were waiting for me. Except, they weren’t. They were waiting for him. All lined up neatly by the back door with tails curled and stared at me with utter disinterest. 

“We don’t need you. Where is the handsome one? Bring him at once”, was the only thing I could hear from their eyes.

‘You traitors!’ I spat. ‘I feed you every day. I even gave you good-brand food last week! And this is who you love now? A tall singing church boy?’

A gray tabby meowed unapologetically. 

I knelt and squinted at them. ‘What does he have that I don’t?’

The cats looked startled. Then one pawed at my foot, as if trying to tell me to stop talking.

‘Yes, yes, I know… Warm heart, humble but stable income, probably knows how to do house chores, whatever.’ I blabbered.

I scooped the nearest cat into my arms and hissed, ‘He is not your mother. I am your mother.’

That cat bit my sleeve. Unbelievable.

Just as I stood up to scold all of them thoroughly, one by one, I heard footsteps behind me. I jumped so suddenly I almost threw the cat on my arms across the parking lot.

Oh wait… So they were warning me…

‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Caleb held up his hands.

I pressed a hand to my racing heart. ‘Since wh— what are you doing here?’

His cheeks flushed slightly. He looked like he was out for a jog. He wasn’t wearing the clerical loose shirt today. Just a simple white tee and a gray hoodie pushed up to his elbows, exposing this forearms. 

And he works out too? Why did men have forearms? Who invented that? Didn’t he know it’s unholy for men to wear grey sweatpants?

‘I, um… wanted to thank you.’

‘For what?’ I spat. Instantly suspicious, defensive, and still jealous over the cats. And of his capacity to understand the music I wanted him to do and the capability to execute it.

He offered the folded scrap of paper. My note.

Oh…

‘I almost showed your suggestion to the others, because it really helped. But I thought maybe you wouldn’t want that.’ He confessed.

My throat tightened. He made the right choice. I’d have hated that.

‘It’s your melody. I want to thank the person who made the song complete.’ He said.

I should have said “please leave”, or “don’t mention it”, or at least a small “you’re welcome”.

But instead, I blurted, ‘I didn’t do anything.’

He smiled at me. Probably saw through my lie.

‘You don’t have to be shy about it. You’re clearly musically trained.’

I stiffened. This was a part of me I do not want to be exposed. Not yet though. Maybe later.

His eyes softened with a quiet understanding. He sensed he’d stepped near a wound without meaning to.

‘Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. Really.’ he continued gently.

His voice was soft enough to melt the spine of anyone with a functioning nervous system.

Not me though. No. I had transcended that. Maybe.

He smiled with a small head tilt as he waited for my reaction.

Okay… maybe not. 

Sensing that I was starting to blush, I panicked. ‘I need to, um… inside… work! Things...’

I ran. To hell with walking. I didn’t excuse myself politely. I escaped like a feral woodland creature who had just been caught peeing on church grounds. I nearly tripped on the step. The cats watched my escape like a soap opera.

I burst through the back door, slammed it shut, leaned my whole weight on it, and whispered to myself, ‘No. No. No.’

Slowly and surely, something started to grow and glow inside my heart.