The piano room was colder than usual.
Maybe because the sun hadn't hit that side of the building yet.
Maybe because Alex and Elias hadn't spoken since the library — and now they were stuck in the same room with an original song, two chairs, one lyric sheet, and enough unspoken tension to power the East Coast.
Alex sat, legs crossed, sheet music balanced on one knee.
Elias stood by the piano, not looking at her.
She tapped her pen once against the page.
"So."
He didn't answer.
She cleared her throat. "Do you want to start with the chorus?"
"I want to start with you explaining why I should trust you not to hijack the next four minutes of my life."
Alex rolled her eyes. "You already said yes by showing up."
"Or maybe I showed up to stop you from embarrassing both of us."
"Oh, please—"
"You don't care about this song," he cut in, turning to face her now. "You care about winning. You care about being right."
"I care about you not wasting the one thing that makes you more than just another guy who hides behind cynicism."
He stared at her.
Hard.
Then sat at the piano.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's rehearse."
Alex opened her notebook. "Key of E minor, right?"
Elias played a single note — sharp and clipped.
Alex started humming her verse, quietly at first, then stronger.
Her voice was good. Not flashy, but clean and precise, like her mind — it didn't soar, it carved.
They sang the chorus together once.
Twice.
On the third try, he stopped playing.
Alex lowered her binder. "What?"
"You're over-articulating."
"I'm enunciating."
"You're killing the emotion."
"And you're singing like you don't want anyone to feel anything."
"That's the point."
"No," she said. "That's the problem."
He looked at her.
Something about his eyes shifted then — from ice to iron. From quiet to... wounded.
She saw it.
And hated that she saw it.
"You think I don't feel things?" he asked, voice low.
"I think you're afraid to let people feel what you feel."
He stood. "You have no idea what I've felt."
She stood too. "Then show me."
The silence cracked like glass.
Neither of them moved.
Then, softly—
"If you want me to cancel," she said, "just say it."
Elias didn't blink.
He didn't speak.
She waited.
He walked back to the piano... and started playing the intro again.
Alex closed her eyes.
And began to sing.