Chapter 4: The Musician in the Dark
The next night, Ava couldn't shake the feeling of being pulled back to that room. The music had left an imprint on her, etched deep into her soul in a way nothing ever had before. It lingered, alive in her mind, replaying the delicate, haunted notes over and over, like they were calling to her, pulling her to something she couldn't yet understand.
She told herself she wasn't going back. That it was too strange, too risky. She didn't know this man—didn't know if it was right to intrude again, to let herself get closer to someone whose darkness seemed as deep as her own.
But something inside her had changed.
So, when the silence in her room became unbearable, she found herself standing in front of the music room door again, her hand trembling on the doorknob. She almost turned away, but the pull of the music was too strong. The air inside the building seemed to hum with it, with the memory of those haunting notes that had crept into her heart.
And then, she pushed the door open.
This time, the room was darker. The moonlight had shifted, and only a sliver of it filtered through the window. The piano, black and gleaming, stood like an altar in the center of the room. And at the keys sat Eli, his head down, his fingers moving across the keys with a familiar grace. The music he played this time was different—more frantic, more broken. It wasn't the smooth melody from the night before. It was jagged, like a storm tearing through a calm sea.
Ava stood frozen in the doorway, not sure if she should enter. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him. She had never seen anyone so consumed by the need to create something so raw, so painful. Every note seemed to tear at him, as if he was pulling the music from the deepest parts of his soul, unraveling himself bit by bit.
The music stopped abruptly, and for a moment, the room was suffocating in its silence.
"I thought you might come back."
His voice, low and rough, carried through the dark. It wasn't a question. It was a knowing.
Ava's heart hammered in her chest as she stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. "I didn't mean to... intrude. Again."
Eli didn't turn to face her, but his fingers lingered over the keys. His posture was stiff, tense, as though every inch of him was fighting against something he couldn't control. His head remained bowed, and his fingers trembled slightly against the piano. The air between them was heavy with something unspoken.
"Why did you come?" His voice was soft, but there was a rawness to it that cut through the silence like a blade. It wasn't accusatory—it was just... empty. As if he was searching for something inside himself that he could never quite find.
"I—I don't know," Ava said, her voice barely above a whisper. She stepped forward, closer to the piano, her eyes tracing the outline of his figure in the dark. "The music… it's like it's part of me. I couldn't stay away."
He laughed—soft, bitter. "You think it's that easy? You think the music can just… fill something? It doesn't, you know. Not really."
Ava's throat tightened at the anguish in his voice. "I don't understand."
Eli's hands fell to his sides, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. His shoulders were rigid, his body so still it seemed like he was holding his breath. "No one understands," he muttered, his voice almost drowned out by the weight of his own words.
Ava felt the room grow colder, the darkness pressing in closer, suffocating her. She wanted to say something—anything—that would break the tension, that would make him open up, let her in. But she was afraid. Afraid that if she spoke, she might unravel the fragile thread that held them together.
"What happened to you?" she asked quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Eli's body tensed at the question, and for a moment, the silence between them grew unbearable. He didn't answer at first. Instead, he reached out and gently ran his fingers over the piano keys, but he didn't play. The sound of his touch lingered in the air like a whisper.
"I didn't ask for this," he said at last, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't ask for this blindness, for this darkness to become my world. But I'm here. And I can't escape it."
Ava's heart twisted as she took a step closer. She reached out, almost without thinking, and placed her hand on the edge of the piano. She couldn't touch him—not yet—but this small connection between them felt like the only thing grounding her to the present.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, not knowing if it was the right thing to say. "I can't imagine…"
"You don't need to," Eli interrupted. "You can't imagine it. No one can. No one knows what it's like to be alone in a world that refuses to acknowledge you. The silence is... deafening. And the music?" He paused, his fingers brushing against the keys again, as if testing them. "The music is my only escape. But it doesn't save me."
Ava felt a lump form in her throat, a heavy weight of grief and guilt pressing down on her chest. She didn't know what it was like to lose sight, but she understood loss. Loss of self. Loss of voice. And maybe that was why she was here—why she couldn't stay away. Because she recognized that hollow emptiness in his voice, that same ache that had lived inside her for so long.
She wanted to tell him that she wasn't afraid of his darkness. That she understood, in a way he might never know. But the words stuck in her throat, too tangled with her own insecurities and fears.
Instead, she simply stood beside him in the quiet, listening to the distant hum of the piano, feeling the weight of their unspoken connection.
And for the first time, neither of them felt quite so alone.