Y/N's POV:
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the music room, painting warm stripes across the worn wooden floor.
The air was thick with the scent of old sheet music and the lingering drone of a recently tuned piano.
I sat on a worn-out stool, my fingers tracing the smooth surface of my electric guitar. The familiar weight of the instrument brought a sense of comfort, a feeling I hadn’t experienced much lately.
It had been almost two months since I’d joined the music club, drawn by the promise of an escape from the mundane routine of school life.
I hadn't expected to find solace in the company of a quirky bunch of music enthusiasts, but I did. They welcomed me with open arms, their shared passion for music a language I understood without a word. Except for one.
Hyein.
She was a whirlwind of contradictions. In the club, she was the quiet one, blending seamlessly into the background, her presence more felt than seen.
But when she played her violin, her entire being transformed. Her posture straightened, her eyes narrowed in intense focus, and a quiet confidence radiated from her.
Every note she drew from the instrument was a testament to her skill, a melody that seemed to weave itself into the fabric of the room.
But outside the realm of music, Hyein was a different story. She barely spoke, her voice a soft murmur when it did emerge.
Her gazes were fleeting, a quick flicker of interest followed by a swift retreat. Her responses were clipped, a stark contrast to the passion she poured into her music.
My attempts to engage her in conversation usually ended in awkward silences, a wall of unspoken words separating us.
Despite the disconnect, I couldn't help but feel drawn to her. There was an air of melancholy about her, a hint of sadness that flickered in the corners of her eyes, a loneliness that resonated with something deep within me.
I found myself watching her, fascinated by the contradictions that made up her being, the way she could be so fierce when playing her violin, yet so reserved when interacting with others.
One afternoon, as we were practicing a piece for the upcoming school festival, I caught her staring at me.
A wave of self-consciousness washed over me, the feeling of being observed making my fingers fumble on the guitar strings.
"You're good," she said, her voice a soft whisper.
The compliment, unexpected and simple, caught me off guard. For the first time, I realized she’d been paying attention to my playing.
The usual wall of silence seemed to crack, the world around us fading out as I locked eyes with her.
A fleeting spark of warmth ignited in her gaze, a hint of something more than just appreciation.
"Thanks," I mumbled, my face flushing. "It's not much."
A small smile touched her lips, a fragile, fleeting thing that was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"It's good," she repeated, then turned back to her violin, her attention fully absorbed by the music.
The incident left me with a swirl of emotions. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more between us, a connection that went beyond the music.
Yet, each time I tried to approach her, to delve deeper, the wall of silence would rise again, leaving me feeling frustrated and lost.
Weeks passed, and my fascination with Hyein continued to grow. I started noticing the small details that spoke volumes about her: the way she always wore her hair in a neat braid, the faint scent of lavender that lingered around her, the way she’d hum along to the music we practiced, her voice soft and sweet.
