Unwritten Chords

Chapter 22: The gig.

Author's POV

Adrian arrived at the venue, a high-end club that oozed sophistication and energy. The building was a striking combination of glass and steel, its façade lit up by pulsing neon lights. The muffled thrum of bass vibrated through the walls, growing louder as he approached. Inside, the place was alive—dim lighting, streaks of color darting through the dark, and a crowd that moved like one fluid, electric pulse.

The stage was set at one end of the club, slightly elevated, drawing all eyes to its center. State-of-the-art sound systems framed the setup, while a haze machine added an atmospheric layer to the already intoxicating ambiance. A massive screen behind the stage flashed abstract visuals in sync with the music, pulling the crowd further into the experience.

Adrian navigated through the crowd with practiced ease, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. He exchanged quick nods with a few familiar faces—bartenders, the sound tech, even the regulars who’d shown up just for him. They knew him here; he belonged here.

Behind the scenes, he greeted the bandmates who’d already arrived. Tyler was there too, grinning ear to ear, probably too smug about bailing earlier. Adrian ignored him for now, focusing on tuning his guitar. The strings hummed under his fingers, and he tested each note with precision, his mind zeroing in on the music.

By the time the band took the stage, the crowd had grown restless, eager for what they came to see. Adrian stepped up, the stage lights catching the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that made him look almost ethereal. He adjusted the mic stand, nodded to the drummer for the cue, and the music began.

The first chord reverberated through the club, a sound that seemed to hit everyone at once, like an unspoken signal. The crowd erupted, cheering and moving to the beat. Adrian let the music take over, his fingers dancing effortlessly over the strings, his voice blending into the melody. He was completely in his element, every note and lyric a part of him, a language he spoke fluently.

As the set went on, the energy in the room only grew. The crowd swayed, sang along, and let themselves be carried by the sound. For Adrian, this wasn’t just a gig—it was an escape, a world where nothing else mattered but the music and the connection it created.

But amidst the melodies and the roar of the crowd, Anya’s face flashed in his mind—a memory from earlier that day. Her sharp wit, her stubbornness, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the sitar, the collision they had the way she gripped him,showing up at the most unexpected moments. He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d think of all this. Would she find it impressive, or would she tease him mercilessly about being the self-proclaimed “Prince Charming” of the club?

The thought made him smirk mid-song, a subtle crack in his usually stoic demeanor. It was fleeting, gone in an instant, but it lingered in the back of his mind.

By the time the final song ended, the applause was deafening. Adrian stood there for a moment, chest heaving, the adrenaline coursing through him. He flashed a rare smile, a small acknowledgment to the crowd before stepping off the stage. Backstage, his other members were hyped, exchanging fist bumps and congratulations.

But Adrian, ever the perfectionist, was already analyzing what could’ve been better. And still, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the thought of Anya lingered—lucky charm.
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Anya's POV

There I was, trying to sleep, but the crime scene was right in front of me.

The exact spot where I fell on him.

Anya, you are so damn embarrassing!

I groaned, burying my face into my pillow, but the memory wouldn’t leave me alone. Why did I even give him that yogurt and sugar mix? Who does that? He probably thought I was insane.