SEVEN SOULS [Discontinued]

[Chapter 18]

Ramadan Mubarak for all of my Muslim readers ❤❤❤

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Namjoon played with the hem of the yellow sweater that his band members gave him as his birthday gift, his other hand twirled the pen while his elbow leaning on the desk.

"How is it?" Hoseok asked from the seat beside him, looking at him.

Namjoon raised his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

Hoseok nodded towards his body. "The gift. Do you like it?"

"It's warm." A smile bloomed on the leader's lips, rubbing the soft cloth on his stomach. "Warm, fluffy and cozy. I like it."

"Good to hear that." Hoseok smiled then chuckled. "We were afraid it won't fit."

"A bit oversize but I like oversize sweater so don't worry." Namjoon reassured him, his smile got even wider. "Thanks. You guys didn't have to but me anything."

"No problem. Don't worry about it." Hoseok shrugged, patting his friend's stomach.

"About a dream, huh?" Yoongi asked him, handing the paper that he had just read to Hoseok, changing the topic in a second.

Namjoon hummed. "What do you think?"

"I feel like you're talking to me." Hoseok admitted while his eyes scanning the lyrics over and over again. "There's some part that sounds odd to me, but we can work on that. Besides, I can feel your anger with passion by just reading this. Imagine if we give these lyrics a killer beat."

"Is this the song that you told me you wrote on school during your hard times?" Yoongi asked him, lifting his gaze from the paper on Hoseok's hand. "You re-writing it?"

"Yup, that's it. And yeah, I polished it a couple times 'till I satisfied." Namjoon smiled proudly.

When the seven of them were talking about the song they wanted to make, Namjoon came up with one of the ideas that had been buried deep on his old journal.

The song was about having a dream. Namjoon voiced out his concern and also his complain about how the society cursed them to study non-stop just to be able to reach the word "success" and bring their family name into the spotlight. He was one of the 'victims', as he like to say. He was one of the victims from that old-schooled stereotype.

The idea came into his mind one day when he was sitting alone at the bench near his school basketball field. For the first time, he felt empty. He stared at the basketball team who were playing a game, yelling and laughing and just being happy with their hobbies. They were happy, they were having fun and most important, they were dedicated at doing what they love.

He hit with a sudden realisation that his dream was long gone. The day he had spent burying his face on his book and trying to get good grades -like what his parents had insisted- had slowly dimmed the flame of passion for music inside him.

Namjoon missed it. He missed the way his skin would itch everytime he got a new inspiration of a song. He missed the way his foot would tap the beat that suddenly came inside his mind. He missed the way his hand would scribble words over words, creating a heartful of lyrics on his old journal, shutting the world around him as his hand working on creating words that his mind had formed.

He missed it. He missed everything about his passion for music before his parents had wrecked his PC and burned his journal which was full of lyrics and thoughts. He missed feeling full, feeling like he has something to do, feeling like he has something that he could control. He missed everything.

He missed his old self.

He opened a random blank page on his school notebook and wrote down words over words like he used to. He let out the emptiness inside his heart into the blank paper, transforming his anger, frustration and misery into words. He wrote and wrote, until he could feel the flame has started to make its appearance inside him.