The Higher We Soar

16. Dangerous territory

There's a moment just before my fingers touch the piano keys—a brief, electric hesitation where they hover in midair, suspended as if drawing in breath. It's like they're gathering strength or waiting for some unseen force to pull them forward. Maybe it's patience, motivation, or maybe it's something more instinctual, a need for the right impulse. I'm never entirely sure.

Do I let my fingers fall gently, allowing the notes to drift like a breeze, soft and tender? Or do I strike them with all the force of a storm, as if the keys are windows rattling under the weight of thunder? That pause just before the first note breaks the silence always makes my heart stand still.

And then, when my fingers finally make contact, the music spills out in a rush, as if the floodgates have opened. It's a relief like any other. It's as though everything tangled and knotted in my mind—the thoughts, the tension, the mess—finds a way to slip out, one note at a time. For a fleeting, perfect moment, the chaos outside aligns perfectly with the chaos inside.

I played.

The keys—smooth and cold beneath my fingertips—yielded effortlessly like they had been waiting for this moment. It was almost as if they already knew what was coming, as though the music was ready long before I was.

I know it might sound naive or overly sentimental—like something out of a bad romantic comedy or a cheesy melodrama—but in those moments, the boundary between me and the music dissolves. It's not just that I'm playing it. The music plays me. More than that, it becomes me. It seems like the most natural state I could ever exist in, as if this is how things were always meant to be.

So I let myself be carried away, my eyes closed, my mind at ease.

When the final note faded into silence, I let out a long breath, feeling the tension slowly drain from my body. The rehearsal room felt still, quieter than before, as if the music had taken all the noise with it. For a moment, I let myself sink into that silence, that calmness, convinced I was completely alone.

But then, a soft shuffle behind me broke the stillness. I turned and froze.

"That... was amazing," Jordan said, standing in the doorway, clapping quietly, a faint smile on his lips.

I stared at him, his sudden presence in my world felt like being plunged into cold water.

"Oh... thank you," I said, trying to hide my surprise, my tone dry and cutting. "It was my rendition of Tom Odell's*(1), so if you plan to draw inspiration from that, you know where to look."

He chuckled, though his brows knit together in mild offense. "Lennon, come on. I just wanted to appreciate your skill."

I let out a small, amused snort, half-laugh, half-disbelief, but then I nodded my thanks.

"Where is everybody?" Jordan asked, looking around the rehearsal room.

"They'll be here, don't worry," I stood up from the piano, gathering my sheet music, more to occupy my hands than anything else. "You're early."

Jo nodded, lingering by the door as if unsure whether to step further in or stay where he was. "Yeah, I just... wanted to be on time, for once. Sorry for barging in like that," he gave me a tentative smile. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

The rain outside was pounding like crazy, but the studio seemed strangely quiet. Like the calm before the storm, it crossed my mind.

"You didn't," I lied smoothly. "I was just killing time."

Our eyes locked accidentally—me standing in the depths of the rehearsal room, him lingering awkwardly on its threshold.

I had imagined this moment so many times. I fantasized about what I'd say if we ever stood face to face again—not like that fleeting encounter in the hallway the other day, but like this, now—him, me, all alone, with no reason to run away. There were versions where I confronted him, letting months of frustration pour out, and others where I said nothing at all, being absolutely indifferent. Sometimes, I imagined him speaking—telling me the words I thought I needed to hear, or, much worse, the words I was terrified he'd say. My reactions. His reactions. Thousands of combinations. But now, standing here in front of him in real life, somehow none of those imagined versions fit.