[This is a sequel to "When the Flash Fades"]
Harry and Noa were once inseparable, bound by their shared passion for music and an undeniable connection.
Three years have passed, and their lives have taken different paths. But fate-or whatever higher...
"Fuck, this is awful! I hate it!" Harry exclaims, leaning back in his chair with a weary sigh, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase the frustration etched into them. We have been in the studio all day and we're exhausted.
I let out a slow breath. "Come on, you don't hate it."
He leans forward, his gaze falling to the floor between his legs. "Yes, I do, actually. It's bad."
I laugh. "I know," I admit, mirroring his gesture and rubbing my own eyes.
"I just wanna quit, this is just making me so exhausted!"
"Let's call it a night."
-
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As I see Harry approaching, the night air feels crisp and the street is quiet. It's late, 11:21 to be exact. He reaches me, a familiar smile spreading across his face.
"Hey!" he exclaims, enveloping me in a warm hug. "So, what are we doing here? Are you planning to murder me?"
I chuckle, a wave of déjà vu washing over me as I recall the first time we met. "Funny, but no" I reply, turning to unlock the building behind us. "I'm here to help you get your spark back."
"My spark?" he repeats, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Yes," I say, stepping inside and gesturing for him to follow. "Your passion, creativity, and inspiration—they've been missing."
"Wow," he breathes, looking around with wide eyes. "This place is incredible!"
We step into the dimly lit space, the soft glow of vintage lamps casting a warm, golden hue on the walls. The room is filled with eclectic art pieces, stacks of old books, and curious trinkets that seem to whisper stories of their own.
Harry wanders further in, his eyes darting from one intriguing object to the next. "How did you find this place?" he asks, awe evident in his voice.
"I found it by accident a while ago," I explain, watching him with a smile. "It's been my little sanctuary ever since. I figured I would share it with you. When I feel down or uninspired I go here."
Harry nods slowly, absorbing my words. He walks over to a dusty grand piano in the corner, running his fingers lightly over the keys. "This piano has made thousands of songs, it has experienced music develop, change, it's beautiful" he murmurs, almost to himself.
"Play something," I suggest gently.
He looks at me. "Can I?"
I nod. "Yeah, it's a part of the art, you can touch everything in here."
Harry's eyes light up as he takes a seat on the old piano bench, his fingers hovering above the keys like he's a little nervous. He takes a deep breath and starts to play. The notes start off slow and uncertain, but soon they gain confidence, turning into a melody that fills the room.
