The long way to us

Chapter 7

Empty space

The grand auditorium was bathed in golden light, the kind that seemed to make the stars above feel like they were watching the night unfold with bated breath. Leah stood in the wings, her eyes scanning the crowd, the rustle of excitement palpable as fans from every corner of the world gathered to witness the magic of the awards show. She glanced over at Milo, who stood beside her, his hand lightly resting on her arm, grounding her in a way that only he could.

The band she belonged to had just finished their set, and now they waited for the announcement of the winners. It was a night filled with anticipation, but the atmosphere was thick with something unspoken — a charge that Leah couldn't quite place. It was as though the night was holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter the delicate silence that had settled over the room.

Across the stage, Elijah stood with his band, the weight of the moment reflected in the tense set of his jaw. His eyes swept over the audience, searching for something or someone. When they landed on Leah, a shiver ran down her spine. There was no smile, only the raw, unfiltered truth of what lay between them. She looked away quickly, but not before catching the flash of pain that flickered across his face. He was struggling, and she could feel it as though it were an electric current that crossed the space between them.

Milo's fingers tightened on her arm, drawing her back into the present. He leaned close and whispered, "Hey, it's going to be okay. We're okay." The words were simple, but they anchored her, kept her steady as the crowd's noise swelled around them.

The announcer's voice cut through her thoughts. "And now, we welcome Inhaler, who will perform a special rendition of their latest song." A murmur of excitement swept through the crowd. Some were already standing, cameras ready, their anticipation palpable. Leah swallowed hard, her eyes moving back to Elijah as he stepped forward.

He moved with a practiced confidence, the kind that belied the turmoil she knew he must be feeling. He stood at the center of the stage, the spotlight illuminating him like a halo. The crowd's applause gradually faded into a hush as he raised his guitar, the instrument seeming like an extension of himself, worn and familiar. Leah's heart clenched as the first notes filled the air, soft and haunting. It was a melody she recognized immediately, a song that had always been close to him, close to them.

Milo's hand on her arm shifted, becoming more of a protective hold. He knew the song too. They all did. It was the one Elijah had written in the aftermath of their breakup, the one that had made Leah's chest tighten with a mix of nostalgia and resentment.

Elijah's voice broke the silence, its timbre raw and cracking with emotion. "I don't see you. 
You're not in every window I look through."

The words were a confession, a reminder of the love that once was and the painful acknowledgment that it was gone. Leah's heart ached, but she forced herself to look away, to focus on Milo, to remember that he was the one who held her heart now. Yet, even as she turned to him, she couldn't ignore the thrum of memories that the song awakened — late-night talks, music shared between them, stolen moments that had once felt so eternal.

Milo's expression was unreadable, but she could feel the tension radiating from him. His jaw was set, and his eyes were locked on the stage, following Elijah's every move with an intensity that made her chest tighten.

"And I don't miss you. 
You're not in every single thing I do."

Leah's eyes burned with the effort it took to stay in the present. The crowd's reactions blurred into a background hum, voices echoing with awe and disbelief at the rawness of Elijah's performance. He sang as if every note was a plea, as if every word was a battle between truth and denial. His eyes seemed to search the room for her, but Leah refused to let herself look back. Instead, she looked at Milo, who was staring at the stage with an expression that was part anger, part heartbreak.

"Don't listen to him," Milo said, his voice low, but steady. He leaned close, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. "He's not the one who gets to write your story, Leah. You know that, right?"

Leah nodded, her throat tight. She needed to believe that. She had to.

The next verse came, and Leah felt the sharpness of each word like a knife to the heart.

"I don't think we're meant to be. 
And you are not the missing piece."

The honesty in Elijah's voice was like an open wound, one that Leah knew all too well. She remembered the last time they had been together, how he had looked at her with tears in his eyes, unable to say the words she needed to hear. He had been afraid, afraid to fight for what they had, and she had left. Now, he was admitting it out loud, on stage, with thousands watching.

Milo shifted, his thumb brushing her arm as if to remind her that he was there, that she was safe. The warmth of his touch was a lifeline, a quiet assurance that helped her stay anchored in the present.

"I won't hear it, 
Whenever anybody says your name. 
And I won't feel it, 
Even when I'm burstin' into flames."

The song's intensity rose, the music carrying the weight of every unsaid word, every unfulfilled promise. Leah's vision blurred as memories flooded her mind — long conversations in the middle of the night, the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, the way they had once believed they could conquer anything. It was tempting to fall back into that, to let the song sweep her away. But Milo's eyes, fierce and unwavering, kept her grounded.

"I don't regret the day I left. 
I don't believe that I was blessed. 
I'm probably lyin' to myself, again."

Leah's chest tightened, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Elijah's voice cracked, and for a moment, he faltered. She could see the strain in his expression, the anguish that had followed him like a shadow. She wondered if he had ever truly known what he was losing until it was too late.

"I'm alone in my head, 
Looking for love in a stranger's bed. 
But I don't think I'll find it, 
'Cause only you could fill this empty space."

The final notes hung in the air, a haunting testament to what had once been. Silence followed, heavy and suffocating, before the auditorium erupted into applause. The audience's cheers filled the space, but Leah couldn't hear them. She was caught in the moment, in the raw ache of recognition, in the quiet strength of the man standing beside her.

Milo's hand tightened around hers, grounding her. She turned to him, seeing the pain in his eyes but also the determination. "You're the one who fills my empty space," he whispered, his voice strong and steady, unwavering even in the face of the storm Elijah had created.

Leah took a deep breath, looking up at him with eyes full of emotion. For a moment, the world faded away, and there was only him, only the future they had begun to build together. The song had been a reminder of the past, but it was Milo who had brought her back to the present.

And the present was where she wanted to stay, didn't she?