One Last Song

Chapter One

The evening air felt like a gentle brush against my skin, cool but not cold. The sky above Inverness was beginning to shift from pale blue to soft shades of lavender and pink as the sun lowered behind the hills. I tugged my cardigan tighter around my body, wrapping it like a shield against the cool air. The thick, olive-green knit was worn and familiar, its sleeves a little too long, brushing against my wrist, where the ink of a small treble clef peeked out. The tattoo was an old reminder of my love for music, something I never quite let go of, even though my life had taken a different path.

The streets of Inverness were quieter now, the late afternoon rush having long passed. The park along the River Ness always held a certain charm at dusk. The water flowed steadily beside me, its surface rippling with the wind, reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights flickering to life. The nearby stone bridges arched gracefully over the river, connecting parts of the old city, their stone worn from centuries of footsteps and the weight of history.

I loved it here—the blend of old and new, the way the buildings seemed to rise out of the ground as if they'd always been there, unchanged by time. The park was my escape, my place to walk and think, especially as the light faded. It was hard not to feel inspired when surrounded by so much quiet beauty. The leaves crunched under my boots as I wandered, the crisp air filling my lungs, and though I had my camera slung over my shoulder, I hadn't taken a single photo yet. Sometimes, it was better just to experience a moment rather than capture it.

As I passed a group of tourists gathered around a historical monument, the sound of a guitar floated through the air, soft but distinct, threading its way through the evening stillness. I stopped for a moment, listening. There was something haunting about the melody, something that pulled at me. It wasn't unusual to hear street musicians in Inverness, especially near the river or in the small squares dotted throughout the city. But this was different. The music had a rawness to it, a vulnerability that made it feel like whoever was playing wasn't trying to perform—they were trying to tell a story.

My feet moved before my mind could catch up, drawn to the sound as if it had wrapped itself around me and was pulling me in. The path ahead curved around a small stone fountain, and that's where I saw him.
He was seated casually on the edge of the fountain, guitar balanced on his knee, his head bent slightly, dark hair falling into his face as his fingers danced over the strings. He wore a leather jacket, scuffed and worn, like it had been through years of late nights and long journeys. His boots were planted firmly on the cobblestone ground, his body relaxed, but there was an intensity in the way he played that made it clear the music wasn't just a background noise for him. It was everything.

I slowed my pace as I approached, keeping my distance but unable to tear my eyes away. The crowd around him wasn't large, just a few passersby who had paused to listen, their conversations falling silent as the music filled the space. But even though there were others around, it felt like he was playing just for himself, as if the world outside his melody didn't matter.

His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, coaxing out notes that seemed to hover in the cool evening air, mixing with the breeze. It was a simple melody, but there was something captivating in its simplicity. Each note carried weight, and I found myself holding my breath, waiting for what would come next.

The light around us dimmed as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the park. The street lights flickered to life, casting a soft glow over the cobblestones. The trees lining the path swayed gently in the wind, their leaves rustling as they clung to the last warmth of the day. There was something peaceful about this moment, the fading day, the quiet murmur of the river behind us, and the music that seemed to wrap around everything.
I didn't know how long I stood there, listening, watching. It felt like time had stopped. And then, just as the final note of his song hung in the air, he lifted his head and looked straight at me.