Chords of Tadhana

Chapter 5:The Struggle to Find the Melody

Aaron Matthews couldn't stop thinking about her. The girl who always stood in the front row, her eyes locked on him as though she understood every word, every chord. Her presence had become a quiet source of inspiration in his music, an unspoken muse he hadn't even asked for but desperately needed. Every time he stepped on stage, it was like he was searching for that connection, that look, that smile. It was as if her energy was feeding something deep inside him, something that he had been missing for a while.

He found himself writing new songs, ones that felt more personal, more real than anything he had composed before. His lyrics began to shift, the melodies more raw, more vulnerable. There was a new depth to his music—songs about longing, connection, and the kind of quiet understanding he felt with her. Even though they hadn't spoken, even though he knew so little about her, she had become the subject of his music.

For the first time in months, Aaron felt excited. His guitar felt like an extension of himself, and his songs were flowing freely, almost effortlessly. His bandmates noticed the change, too. His playing had become more emotive, and his passion for music reignited. His bandmates even joked that he'd been "writing love songs," but Aaron didn't care. He knew exactly what inspired him, even if he couldn't fully understand why.

But inspiration, as it often does, came with its own set of challenges.

It was during a rehearsal at Kanto Sounds, the same venue where he'd performed countless times, that the weight of everything began to settle on his shoulders. Aaron had been putting in long hours, working late into the night to perfect his new songs. The pressure to produce something meaningful, to live up to his newfound inspiration, was starting to weigh him down.

"Hey man, you okay?" Mark, the drummer, asked, breaking Aaron out of his thoughts.

Aaron looked up. His bandmates had paused their instruments and were watching him with concern. He gave a half-smile, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, just... tired, I guess."

But it wasn't just tiredness. It was more than that. It was like a fog had descended on him, making it hard to focus. The energy he had felt in the past few weeks, the drive to create, suddenly felt elusive. The songs that had flowed so easily before now felt stuck, as if the words and chords were tangled in his mind. And every time he sat down to play, his fingers seemed to hesitate on the strings. The melodies he once played without thought now felt heavy and lifeless.

It wasn't just the music, either. The anxiety was creeping in, the kind of doubt that gnawed at you when you started to wonder if you were ever good enough to begin with. The fear that everything he had worked for, everything he had built with his band, was slipping away. He couldn't shake the feeling that the muse—the inspiration—was slowly fading, as though it had never been there at all.

"Let's call it a night," Aaron said, standing up and rubbing his forehead. "I need a break."

The next few days were harder than Aaron had anticipated. The feeling of being disconnected from his music grew stronger. He tried to play, tried to force the melodies to come back, but the guitar felt heavier in his hands. Each note seemed hollow, the lyrics meaningless. It was as if his mind had gone blank, leaving him with nothing but a feeling of frustration and failure.

He avoided his bandmates, telling them he needed time to work through it. But in reality, he didn't want to face them. He didn't want to admit that the music he had been so passionate about was slipping through his fingers. And the worst part? The girl—the one who had been his muse—had stopped coming to the shows. He hadn't seen her in weeks, and it was like the absence of her presence had drained him of the last bit of inspiration he had.

Aaron spent hours staring at his guitar, the chords mocking him from the neck of the instrument. He tried to write, but the lyrics wouldn't come. Even when he listened to the songs that had once moved him, that had inspired him to pick up his guitar in the first place, he felt nothing. The world around him felt empty, devoid of the spark that music had always given him.

He thought back to the last time he had seen her, standing in the rain outside Kanto Sounds. Her smile, that soft, knowing smile—it had meant something. But now, all of that felt like a distant memory. He couldn't help but wonder if she had stopped coming because he wasn't good enough, if his music had lost its meaning.

It was in one of these moments of frustration, sitting alone in his small apartment, when Aaron decided to do something he hadn't done in a long time. He picked up his phone and started scrolling through his contacts. He hesitated before finally typing a message:

"Hey, it's Aaron. I've been thinking about something. Are you okay? Haven't seen you at the shows lately. I hope everything's good."

He sat there staring at the message, his finger hovering over the send button. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he should send it. It felt strange, almost too personal. But at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that reaching out might give him the clarity he needed.

With a deep breath, he hit send.

The next morning, Aaron was met with silence. No reply. He went about his day, pretending not to care, but deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that the music that had once been his passion was slipping away, and he didn't know how to get it back.

But in the back of his mind, the thought of her—of the girl who had inspired him—kept him going. Maybe, just maybe, she had been the missing piece he needed to find his way back. But first, he had to confront the fear that had been haunting him for weeks.

Would he ever find his music again? Or was it lost in the noise of his doubts and insecurities?