Chapter 10 — Notes of Truth
The composition room was silent except for the faint hum of a ceiling fan and the whisper of pencil against paper.
Days had passed since Celeste gave them their assignment — to compose something true.
Easier said than done.
Ren sat by the piano, hands hovering over the keys, but nothing came out. Every melody he tried sounded too careful, too polished — like he was writing what he thought people wanted to hear.
Kai, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook open, bow tapping against his shoulder.
"You're overthinking again," Kai said without looking up.
Ren sighed. "Maybe you're underthinking."
Kai laughed softly. "Maybe that's why we balance each other out."
Ren turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Balance? You mean chaos and anxiety."
Kai grinned. "Exactly."
For a moment, they both laughed — and in that lightness, something shifted.
Ren placed his fingers on the keys again, this time not trying to impress, just… to speak.
A soft, hesitant melody began to form.
Simple. Pure. Sad.
Kai looked up immediately, sensing it.
"That's it," he whispered.
Ren didn't answer — he just kept playing.
Kai lifted his violin and joined in, letting his bow glide gently over the strings. The piano's softness met the violin's ache, blending into something fragile but honest.
There were no words, but the message was clear:
Ren's melody carried loneliness — years of silence he'd buried behind perfection.
Kai's violin answered with comfort — a promise that he wasn't alone anymore.
They didn't speak for hours. They didn't need to.
The room filled with half-written notes and unspoken confessions.
When they finally stopped, the sun had already set. The faint orange glow spilled across the floor, and Ren realized he was smiling — a real, tired, genuine smile.
Kai leaned against the piano, voice soft. "That… felt like breathing after holding it too long."
Ren nodded. "That's what truth sounds like, I think."
Kai smiled. "Then we're finally writing it."
Ren chuckled. "No. We're finally living it."