Six Months Later
Loud workout music blasted through my earbuds as I ran on the treadmill, lost in the rhythm of my steps. Sweat dripped down my face, but I didn't care—I was in the zone. Then, suddenly, a gentle tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my focus.
I quickly turned my head to see who it was. It was Nana Celine. I immediately pulled out my earbuds and stopped the treadmill, panting as I caught my breath.
"You're saying, Nana?" I asked between deep breaths.
"I said your mom is looking for you. She said she has something for you."
"Oh, okay. Tell her I'll be there in a minute," I replied.
She nodded and walked away. I turned off the music on my phone and reached for my towel, wiping the sweat off my face and neck. Grabbing my water bottle, I took a few deep gulps, my eyes drifting toward the mirror in front of me.
It had been six months since the first day I tried to stand again. Six months of pain, struggle, and endless physical therapy. And now, here I was—standing, walking, running, even jumping. Physically, I was stronger than ever. But mentally? I was still fractured.
Since that strange dream about Jill, no new memories had resurfaced. The accident, my past—everything was still a blur. And Jill? She was still missing from my life. I had asked everyone I could think of, but no one seemed to know where she was. Friends, neighbors, even distant acquaintances—I reached out to anyone who might have known her whereabouts. But every time, I got the same answer: "I haven't seen her in a long time."
There were so many things I wanted to ask her. So many unanswered questions. But how could I ask when I didn't even know where to find her?
I snapped out of my thoughts when I suddenly remembered—Mom was waiting for me downstairs. Shaking off my lingering thoughts, I quickly finished wiping off the sweat, took one last sip of water, and headed downstairs to see what she had for me.
As I walked down the stairs, I noticed the excitement growing on Mom's face. Her eyes lit up, and a wide smile spread across her lips. I couldn't help but smile back, though confusion crept into my expression.
"Hey, you look so happy, Mom," I said, chuckling. "What's this all about?"
She clasped her hands together, barely able to contain her excitement. "Oh, sweetie, I am so sure you're going to love this. I've been planning to give it to you after you finished your physical therapy."
My curiosity piqued. "What is it?"
Mom turned to John, our family's personal driver. "John, get the gift."
John nodded and walked toward the car parked outside. I watched as he returned, carrying a large box. The size alone made my curiosity deepen.
"Mom, what is that?" I asked again, my brow furrowing.
She simply smiled, gesturing for me to sit beside the box on the couch. John carefully placed it down before stepping aside.
"I want you to open it now, sweetie!" Mom said, practically bouncing with excitement.
I scanned the box's exterior. It was wrapped beautifully in black paper with a big red ribbon tied neatly on top. I hesitated for a moment before slowly tearing the wrapping. As I peeled away the paper, I started guessing. Maybe a dress? A designer gown? But as the gift wrap gave way, my eyes landed on a large black leather case.
Confused, I glanced at Mom, but she just nodded eagerly, urging me to open it. Her excitement was contagious, but I still had no idea what was inside.
Unclipping the latches, I carefully lifted the lid. My eyes widened as I took in the sight before me—a cello. A beautifully polished instrument resting inside its case.
I looked at Mom again, this time feeling a little lost. I could see her waiting expectantly, anticipating an overjoyed reaction.
"Oh… a cello, right?" I finally said. It was all I could muster.
The excitement on her face wavered slightly.
"Yes, yes, it is," she said, though her voice had lost a bit of its previous enthusiasm.
As she approached, Dad walked into the room, fresh from a meeting. He took one look at the cello and smiled.
"Good morning, sweetie," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead before turning to Mom and giving her a quick peck. "A cello, huh? You'll be playing again?"
I ran my fingers lightly over the wooden surface, the smooth texture familiar yet distant. I hesitated before answering.
"I… I don't know. I don't remember how to play anymore."
"We can always start from scratch again, sweetie," Mom quickly interjected, her voice laced with hope. "I can call Maestro now and arrange lessons for you again."
I took a deep breath, bracing myself.
"Thanks, Mom. This is really nice, but… I don't think I want to learn how to play again. At least, not right now."
I saw the shift in her expression—the excitement draining, replaced by sadness and quiet frustration.
"Please don't be mad," I said gently, moving closer to her. "It's just that I've been thinking a lot about my future, and I want to pursue something else."
Dad leaned forward. "What is it?"
I met his gaze, steady and sure. "I want to go to law school. I want to study law and eventually join your team."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Dad's expression was unreadable at first, but then, a slow smile formed on his face.
Mom, on the other hand, looked completely taken aback.
"What!? A lawyer? But… but you love music, sweetie! This was your life before!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.
I shook my head. "Before. And I don't remember before, Mom. I don't even remember loving music or this instrument."
Mom's shoulders tensed, her frustration evident.
Not wanting to upset her further, I quickly stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her. "I still love the gift, Mom," I assured her softly. "It's just… things are different now."
She sighed, her arms tightening around me as she hugged me back. No words—just a silent understanding between us.
Dad stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on my back. "I'll talk to a friend at one of the law schools here. We'll get you enrolled."
My heart swelled with gratitude. I turned and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Dad!"
Mom pulled away, giving Dad a pointed, cold look before walking away and heading upstairs without another word. I watched her go, worry creeping in. Had I hurt her too much by choosing a different path?
Dad, sensing my unease, gave me a reassuring nod. "Don't worry. I'll talk to your mom."
I exhaled, feeling a little relieved, and hugged him again. "Thank you, Dad. For everything."
Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for sure—this was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.
Dad gathered his things and followed Mom upstairs. I watched him disappear at the top of the staircase, my thoughts lingering on their conversation.
With a quiet sigh, I turned back to the couch and sat beside the cello. My fingers instinctively ran along its smooth surface, tracing the curves of the instrument. I plucked at the strings gently, hoping—just hoping—that something, even the smallest memory, would come back to me. But there was nothing. Just an empty void where recollections should have been.
Carefully, I lifted the cello from its case, adjusting its weight in my arms. It was big and heavier than I expected. A strange thought crossed my mind—how did I ever carry this before? How did I once play this with ease?
Curiosity sparked in me. I reached for my phone, opened YouTube, and typed "cello performances" into the search bar. Scrolling through the suggested videos, I absentmindedly browsed until something made me freeze.
A video thumbnail—of me.
I quickly scrolled back and stared at it. It was unmistakably me, seated on a grand stage, a cello in my hands. Behind me was a full orchestra, their instruments poised, ready to accompany my performance. My heart pounded as I clicked on the video.
The screen came to life, and there I was, illuminated by soft golden stage lights. I was wearing a flowing white gown, elegant and poised. My fingers moved effortlessly along the strings, and as the bow glided, a hauntingly beautiful melody filled the concert hall. The song was melancholic, each note drenched in raw emotion. Even through the screen, I could feel the depth of the music, the sadness, the passion.
I read the title: Noa Ysabelle Schmid – CARUSO.
I was really a musician. I was really up there on that stage, pouring my soul into the music. And Mom was right—I wasn't just good. I was exceptional.
I kept watching, completely mesmerized by my own past self. The way my fingers danced on the strings, the way my body moved with the music—it was like watching a stranger, yet somehow, I knew it was me. How could I have forgotten something that was once such a huge part of my life?
As the final note faded into silence, the audience erupted into applause. People stood, cheering, their faces filled with admiration. I saw myself smile—an expression of both exhaustion and fulfillment.
I let the video end and slowly lowered my phone. My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the cello again.
"How… how could I forget this?" I whispered to myself.
This wasn't just a hobby. This was once my life.
I picked up my phone again and continued browsing through more videos of myself. As I scrolled, another one caught my attention—"Noa Ysabelle Schmid – Paint It Black."
I hesitated for a moment before clicking on it. The video started playing, showing me alone on stage, a cello in my hands. The setting was dark and dramatic, the lighting casting deep shadows, making the performance feel even more intense. My past self played with precision, each note sharp and powerful, filling the space with an electrifying energy.
I set my phone on the coffee table, angling it so I could watch myself clearly. Then, carefully, I adjusted the cello in my lap, mirroring the way I held it in the video. Once it was positioned correctly, I reached for the bow, gripping it as confidently as I could.
Taking a deep breath, I placed the bow against the strings, pressing my fingers down just as I saw myself do in the video.
Then, I played.
Or at least, I tried to.
The moment I moved the bow, an awful, screeching sound filled the air—harsh and grating, nothing like the deep, soulful notes in the video. I winced at the unpleasant noise, my grip faltering. I tried again, pressing the strings harder, adjusting my wrist, mimicking every movement I saw on the screen. But no matter what I did, the only sound that came out was an unbearable scratchy noise.
Frustration bubbled inside me. I let out a sharp breath and placed the bow down in disappointment. No wonder Mom is so desperate to bring me back to this career.
With a sigh, I gently returned the cello and bow to its case, closing it with careful hands. I called one of the maids over and asked her to bring it to my room, instructing her to place it on my bed. She nodded and quickly carried the case upstairs.
Deciding I needed to freshen up after my workout, I followed suit, making my way toward my room. But as I reached the third floor—where both my room and my parents' bedroom were—I heard raised voices coming from behind their closed door.
An argument.
I instinctively slowed my steps, creeping closer to listen.
"We've already talked about this, Amanda!" Dad's voice was firm, though he wasn't quite yelling. "Let her do what she wants this time. You never gave her the freedom to choose before!"
"You never understand! Music was her life before, Greg! She was a musician—an exceptional musician!" Mom argued back, her voice filled with emotion.
"That was before—back when you controlled her life," Dad shot back. "You were the one who forced her to love music!"
"How dare you!" Mom's voice rose. "I never forced her. I only nurtured her talent! Even as a child, she showed an incredible gift for music!"
"Yet you never asked her what she truly wanted!"
There was a brief silence before Mom spoke again, her tone sharp and insistent.
"Greg, come back here! We're not done talking!"
"Enough, Amanda! We have already lost her once because of you and your stupid dream for her!" Dad's voice was final. "I am not going to let you push Noa into something she doesn't want to do—not again!"
I heard Dad's footsteps approaching the door. Panic shot through me, and I bolted for my room, quickly shutting the door behind me just as I heard theirs swing open.
Leaning against the door, I took a deep breath, my heart pounding.
So Mom had been controlling my life before the accident. And now Dad, he was standing up for me.
But Mom… she wasn't ready to let go of the daughter she used to have.