Scarred Hearts: Edison Cresanto Axton (Season One)

Ch. 03: The Unfinished Symphony

Ch. 03: The Unfinished Symphony

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Edison's POV

The final chords of our farewell symphony hung heavy in the humid summer air, a bittersweet melody echoing the turmoil within me. The applause washed over me, a wave of appreciation that felt hollow without the familiar sparkle in Fritz's eyes. My gaze scanned the crowd, searching for the girl who had been the other half of my musical soul, the missing note in my heart's song.

But she was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment gnawed at me, a bitter aftertaste to the night's performance. We'd poured our hearts and souls into that final set, weaving a tapestry of shared memories and unspoken emotions into the music. It was supposed to be our goodbye, a poignant serenade before the inevitable separation.

The band, oblivious to my internal storm, basked in the cheers of the crowd. Each smiling face was a painful reminder of what I was about to lose. My fingers tightened around the violin case, the smooth leather offering little comfort.

My heart twisted in my chest, a discordant note in the symphony of cheers fading around me. Fritz, the girl who danced alongside me in every melody, who saw the music in my soul before I even spoke it, was gone, not just from the stage, but from my life.

Anger, hot and potent, bubbled up within me. How could she just leave? After everything we'd shared, after the unspoken promises woven into the very fabric of our music, she simply vanished. The final song, a testament to our bond, a desperate attempt to bridge the impending distance, had fallen on deaf ears.

I fought back the urge to chase after her car, to force her to explain, to see the unspoken words reflected in her eyes. What was I supposed to do now? The future, once filled with the promise of shared dreams, stretched before me like a barren wasteland, its silence deafening.

Our bandmates continued their high fives and backslaps, their joy a grating counterpoint to the symphony of despair playing within me. I forced a smile, congratulated them with a voice that felt foreign, and retreated backstage.

Alone in the darkened space, the weight of her absence settled on me like a suffocating cloak. The violin case felt heavy, a constant reminder of the music we could no longer create together. I sank onto a dusty chair, the rough fabric biting into my skin.

Days turned into weeks, each sunrise a stark reminder of the void left by her absence. I tried to practice, but the notes felt hollow, devoid of the spark ignited by our shared passion. The empty space beside me on the stage echoed with the ghost of her violin, a constant reminder of the melody we could no longer play.

Sleep offered no solace. Each night, my dreams were haunted by the familiar melody of our final performance, punctuated by the echoing silence of her car disappearing into the distance.

The sound of my mother's voice, laced with concern, broke through the dense fog of despair I'd been enveloped in. Her words, distorted, filtered through a veil of unshed tears, struggled to penetrate my numbed senses.

"Edison? Cres...Cresanto?" She hesitated at the door, her voice softer now, laced with a mother's intuition. "Edison Cresanto Axton? Meal is ready! Get out from your room."

My gaze remained fixed on the worn photograph clutched in my hand - Fritz. Her vibrant smile, etched with the memory of our last performance, mocked the desolate symphony playing on repeat inside me.

Silence hung heavy in the air, the only response to her worried inquiry. A sigh, heavy with disappointment and concern, escaped her lips. The creak of the door opening further brought reality crashing down.