The Unwritten

The soft hum of the city night echoed in the distance, but to Jacob, it felt like everything had gone silent. He stood alone on the stage, guitar in hand, the lights dimming around him. The crowd's cheer had faded to a low murmur, but in his mind, it was as though the whole world had vanished. It had always been like this-his songs, his music-were the only things that truly felt like home. But tonight, there was something missing. Something irreplaceable.

His fingers strummed a few notes absentmindedly, but the melody was hollow. It wasn't the first time he'd felt this way-empty despite the roar of success, despite the thousands of fans who sang along with his lyrics. But it was different now. The one person who had made him feel more alive than his music ever could was no longer beside him.

Laura.

The woman who had once been the muse behind every song, every note, every word. The one he'd written for, dreamed of, loved in silence. It had been years since they'd spoken, but her absence lingered, pulling at him in ways he couldn't escape.

The crowd was cheering again, urging him to play, but Jacob's mind was somewhere far away, locked in memories of a love that never fully bloomed. It wasn't just the music that had kept him away from her. It was the fear of never being enough. The fear that no matter how many songs he wrote, they'd never be enough to make her stay.

And so, he wrote songs about her-songs that no one would ever know were meant for her, for the woman who had once stood in the crowd, cheering him on.

But now, as the years had passed, it was clear. No amount of lyrics, no number of performances, would bring her back. Not when the distance between them had become too vast to bridge.

And the last note lingered in the air-a note that would never be heard by her, but would forever be a reminder of what could have been...