That night, in the dimly lit room, I felt a sense of listlessness. The last case was closed, the report had been sent, and Rose was busy with her own affairs. I was alone, surrounded by silence. My eyes swept across the bookshelf on my bedroom wall, a legacy from my older sister. The shelf was crammed with various genres: thick novels on ontology that I had never touched, a crumpled anthology of poetry, and a stack of short stories that looked intriguing.
My hand reached out, grabbing a book with a worn cover. The title was A Melody Above the Abyss. I opened the first page, and a story slowly pulled me into its world.
His name was Kavi, a blind violin maker who lived at the top of a cliff. From birth, his eyes could not see light, but his ears captured the world with unimaginable detail. He knew every gust of wind, the whisper of falling leaves, and the melody created by the waves as they struck the rocks at the bottom of the ravine.
Kavi's world was nothing but sound. And from those sounds, he created violins. He could distinguish the best wood just by touching and listening to its resonance. The violins he made were masterpieces, capable of producing such beautiful melodies that it was said they could touch the hearts of the gods.
One day, a wealthy merchant came to his cliff. The merchant offered him wealth and fame if Kavi would make a violin for him. Kavi refused. He only made violins for himself and for those he felt were worthy. The merchant was annoyed, and in his anger, he challenged Kavi.
"What do you know about beauty, Kavi?" the merchant said with a tone of contempt. "You have never seen a sunrise, or the colors of a rainbow, or the face of someone you love! You are just a blind man on top of this cliff!"
Kavi was not angry. He just smiled faintly. "The eyes do not see, Sir. But the ears hear."
The merchant did not understand. That night, he returned to Kavi's cliff, in secret. He intended to steal Kavi's best violin, a violin made from the wood of a sacred tree in the forest. He succeeded in stealing the violin, but as he turned, his foot slipped. The violin was thrown, falling into the abyss below.
Kavi heard the sound. Not just the sound of the falling violin, but also the sound of the emptiness that followed. The merchant was terrified. He screamed for forgiveness. "I ruined it! I destroyed your masterpiece!"
However, Kavi did not look sad. He just stood on the edge of the cliff, staring into the emptiness below. "Sir," he said, his voice calm. "The most beautiful violin is not the one in the hand, but the one in the heart. The masterpiece was never destroyed."
The merchant was confused. He did not understand what Kavi meant.
Kavi raised his hands. The wind blew, scattering his long hair. He began to pluck the strings of a violin that was not in his hands. From the empty air, from the wind and the void, came the most beautiful melody the merchant had ever heard. The melody was like a mournful cry, yet also full of hope. The melody told of all that Kavi could not see: the colors of the twilight sky, the warmth of a hug, and unspoken love. It was the "Melody of Emptiness," Kavi's greatest masterpiece.
The merchant finally understood. He had not only stolen a violin. He had tried to destroy something that could not be destroyed: the soul of an artist.
I closed the book slowly. My mind wandered, returning to this lonely room. I looked at the bookshelf my sister had left me. I used to not understand why she collected books like these, so I wondered, did she read all of these? And, I also didn't understand why my mother, an extraordinary artist, was never recognized in the art world. Yet she always smiled.
I had always thought that the value of a work of art lay in what could be seen, what could be touched, what could be sold. Just like the merchant in the story. But I was wrong.
My mother's greatest masterpiece was not her paintings hanging on gallery walls. It was her soul. Her soul that never tired of creating, her soul that always found beauty behind the darkness. She once told me, "Arez, sometimes the most beautiful things cannot be seen with the eyes." I didn't understand it then. Now, thanks to this story, I finally do.
The story also made me aware of myself. I, a detective who is obsessed with facts, with physical evidence, with things that can be seen and measured. But there are things that are far more important than that. There are truths that cannot be seen, a beauty that cannot be touched.
I looked out the window. The stars shone brightly, and the wind blew softly. I no longer felt listless. I felt... enlightened. I learned from that short story, from Kavi the blind violin maker, and from my mother. I learned that the value of life is not measured by what we can have, but by what we can feel, what we can create, and how we face emptiness.
I smiled faintly. Tonight, I, Arez Redzel, did not just become a true detective. I also became a better human being.