Lullaby by Morning

Chapter 16: Distant lights

The city lights blurred past Mara's train window as she sped toward the gallery, Eli's paintings pulling her like a tide she couldn't resist. Back in Clearwater Harbor, Kyle threw himself into the rhythm of routine—opening the bookstore at dawn, tuning guitars for locals, strumming new melodies that tasted of salt and solitude. *Echo* had gone viral overnight, clips from the youth concert racking up streams. Fans messaged: *Who's the muse?* He never answered.

Mara texted updates in bursts: *Saw the show. He's the same, but changed. Heart's a mess.* Then: *Dinner with him tonight. Wish me steady waves.* Kyle replied with encouragement—*You've got this. Play the song I gave you if you need anchor.*—masking the pang each ping brought. He pictured her laughing across a candlelit table, Eli sketching her anew, and forced himself to scroll past.

Flashbacks haunted his quieter moments. Journals filled attic shelves: entries from their first jam, her hand brushing his during storms, the conch shell she'd pressed to his ear. *She was light on my shore,* one read. *I was the rock that stayed put.* He burned a few pages one rainy night, smoke curling like unsent words, but kept the rest—reminders of a love that shaped him without claiming him.

His music career sparked. A label scout emailed after *Echo*'s buzz; gigs lined up in nearby towns. Kyle dated again—a fiddler with fire-red hair who matched his tempo—but conversations looped back to Mara in his mind. "You write like you've lost someone," she said once. He smiled. "Maybe I have. And found better songs."

Mara called midway through her city stay, voice bright but breathless. "Reunion was... real. We're talking. Slowly. Thank you for pushing me here, Kyle. You're the best friend I could've asked for."

The word *friend* settled like familiar sand. "Always," he said. "Keep shining."

That night, alone with his guitar, he wrote *Distant Lights*—chords of city glow and harbor dark, love watching from afar. He sent her a demo link. Her reply: *Perfect. Miss our sessions already.*

Kyle stepped onto the bookstore balcony, sea wind sharp against his face. The lighthouse beam swept the bay, steady and alone. Distance had clarified everything: his love one-sided, pure, a current that carried rather than consumed. Eli had her heart; Kyle had the songs it inspired.

For the first time, peace edged in with the ache. He strummed into the night, lights distant but guiding, his own path emerging clear.