𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 | ʙᴛs ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇs

-Between The Notes-

"Between the notes, I found myself again."

♛

-CLARA

The neon lights outside flickered as I wandered through the quiet streets of Seoul. I didn't know what I was looking for-maybe a sign, maybe nothing at all. My hands were stuffed into the pockets of my coat, shielding them from the chilly night air.

Then I heard it.

A soft melody drifted through the cracks of a half-open door down the alley. The sound was unpolished but warm, a stark contrast to the precise, almost mechanical way I had been playing lately. Something about it pulled me in.

I hesitated at the entrance of what looked like a small, underground studio. Inside, a man sat hunched over a keyboard, his fingers pressing the keys with an ease that came from years of instinct rather than training. His black hair was slightly tousled, a loose hoodie hanging off his frame. He didn't seem to notice my presence-at least, not until I shifted my weight, causing the wooden floor beneath me to creak.

His hands paused mid-note, head turned slightly, eyes landing on me. My breath hitched as his gaze pierced me. But there was no irritation, no surprise. Just quiet acknowledgment.

"You lost?" he asked, his voice low, almost amused.

I swallowed. "No. Well, maybe." I glanced at the keyboard. "I heard the music."

The man who I barely know studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Not much of an excuse to walk into a stranger's studio."

Despite the words, his tone wasn't unkind. He gestured toward the old couch against the wall, as if giving me silent permission to stay.

I hesitated, then stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind me. The air smelled faintly of coffee and something metallic-like wires and old speakers. I sat down, feeling strangely like an intruder in his world.

He resumed playing, but this time, his fingers moved lazily, less focused. The unfinished melody drifted between us, filling the silence.

"You play?" he asked without looking up.

I nodded. "Piano. Classically trained."

"Ah." A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "Makes sense."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He leaned back, stretching his arms. "You walked in here like someone looking for something they lost." He glanced at my hands. "Classical training's great, but it can box you in. Makes you forget why you started in the first place."

His words hit a little too close to home. I clenched my fingers together. "And what about you?" I challenged. "Do you ever forget?"

He exhaled a soft chuckle. "All the time." He tapped a key absentmindedly. "That's why I let myself play without overthinking. Sometimes you have to be okay with imperfection."

I frowned, unsure whether to be impressed or frustrated. Perfection had been drilled into me since childhood. I wasn't sure if I knew how to let go of it.

He seemed to read my thoughts. He scooted over on the bench, patting the empty space beside him. "Try it."

I blinked. "What?". My eyes widened like a round balls which was like about to fall.

He let out a soft chuckle. "The piano." His voice was calm but firm. "Play something. Not for technique, not for anyone else. Just play."

I hesitated again, but something in his gaze-steady, unbothered-made my legs move as if mesmerized. I took a seat beside him, my hands hovering uncertainly over the keys.

"Close your eyes," he instructed.

I shot him a skeptical look. "Why?"

"Because you're thinking too much." He smirked. "And honestly, I don't wanna hear some rigid-ass concert piece."

I huffed a quiet laugh but did as he said. I let my fingers press down, feeling the weight of the keys rather than analyzing the sound. A simple melody formed-halting at first, then flowing more naturally. It wasn't perfect. Notes wavered, timing slipped. But for the first time in a long while, it didn't feel forced.

When I stopped, silence stretched between us. Then he hummed approvingly. "Not bad."

I opened my eyes, looking at him. "Really?"

He nodded, then reached over and pressed a few notes in response to hers. "Music's a conversation. You don't always need to control it."

I let his words sink in, the weight of years of expectations loosening just a little. Maybe I hadn't lost music completely. Maybe I'd just forgotten how to listen.

I turned to the pale man sitting beside me. "Thank you." I mumbled.

He shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. But then he pressed a sequence of notes-soft, slow, almost hesitant.

"Here." His voice was quieter now. "Take this with you."

I tilted my head. "What is it?"

He smirked. "A song that doesn't belong to anyone yet."

A warmth spread through my chest. I didn't have all the answers, but I had something better-a melody unfinished, waiting to be played.

And maybe, that was enough.

I never knew his name, nor did he know mine.

We may never meet again.

Yet, he opened my door and played his part.

A stranger, yet we shared a bond.

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Moral: Perfection isn't where true beauty lies; sometimes, the flaws make the song worth playing. That is what life is. Don't expect it to be perfect. Make it comfortable with your flow-

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A/n:

It's not a long chapter, but it carries its own message. We often chase perfection, setting high expectations for ourselves-only to end up feeling lost, frustrated, or even broken. The truth is, perfection is an illusion, and clinging to it can lead us down a path of self-doubt and exhaustion.

The key lesson? Accept your flaws and learn to live with them. Don't force yourself to fit into a mold that was never meant for you. Play the notes you truly want to play, not the ones others expect. Growth doesn't come from being flawless-it comes from embracing imperfections and turning them into something uniquely yours.

We are human. We make mistakes. And that's okay. Learn to accept yourself. Love yourself. That's where real strength begins.

감사합니다 ♡

-Author NYX