Adra's POV
By the time our third year of college rolled around, life had shifted into something that almost felt normal.
Almost.
Sudden Music was still alive, still thriving, but the pace had changed. Our schedules weren't as relentless as the early days—world tours and back-to-back promotions were replaced with carefully chosen shows and selective appearances. College demanded most of our time now, and our parents—plus management—insisted we finish our degrees.
Steve had his nose buried in law books half the time, only looking up when Ariela dragged him out for food. Mark balanced business lectures with band rehearsals, while his relationship with Clara—the so-called nerd turned radiant beauty—kept him grinning like a fool. Gelo, as always, carried the dual weight of leader and heir. And Xiarya walked by his side openly now, no longer hidden behind Adra's mask, but as herself.
Everyone had something.
And me?
I had my music back. My voice was healed. My place on stage was no longer borrowed. But some nights, when the adrenaline faded and the lights went out, a hollow ache settled in my chest. I told myself it was just the weight of responsibility, the aftermath of everything I'd lost and regained. But deep down, I knew.
It wasn't music I longed for. It was someone.
The one I'd left behind.
The Campus
Alcantara University bustled with the kind of energy only a college in mid-semester could summon. The wide courtyards overflowed with students juggling books, laptops, and half-finished projects. Flyers for club activities plastered the bulletin boards. Vendors set up food stalls by the main gate, the air thick with the smell of fried chicken and takoyaki.
Xiarya fit into it effortlessly now. Her long hair swayed as she walked, books tucked under one arm, her other hand clasped in Gelo's without hesitation. People stared—of course they did—but the stares weren't cruel anymore. They were curious, sometimes even respectful. She was no longer a shadow. She was Xiarya Buenavista, cousin to Adra Torres, girlfriend to Sedric Yung, and a princess in her own right.
"Adra, you coming?" Mark's voice snapped me out of my daze. He was balancing two cups of coffee and somehow still scrolling on his phone. "Club meeting starts in five."
I nodded, falling into step beside him.
But my eyes drifted across the quad, where posters for the upcoming Cultural Festival were being hung. A week-long event where different traditions would be showcased—dance troupes, culinary booths, theater, even spiritual rituals.
I didn't know why my chest tightened at the sight of it. Maybe because festivals always reminded me of the past. Of bells. Of vows. Of her.
The Festival
The Cultural Festival transformed the university into something unrecognizable. Lanterns hung from the trees, stalls lined the walkways, and music spilled from every corner. Students wore traditional clothes, laughter mingling with the aromas of grilled food and sweet desserts.
I should have been enjoying it. We all should have. Our band had performed on opening night, a "special feature" that drew half the city onto campus. The rest of the week, we were free to wander, eat, play games, just be college students.
But on the third day, when I rounded the corner of the main hall, I froze.
A small stage had been set up near the fountain, where a delegation from Japan was preparing a ritual performance. Their white and crimson attire gleamed in the sunlight, their movements graceful and deliberate. Incense curled in thin streams into the air.
And at the center of it all—
Her.
The shrine maiden.
My breath caught. For a moment, the noise of the festival dimmed. The clamor of students faded. All I could hear was the soft chime of bells as she moved, every gesture measured, every step rooted in centuries of tradition.
Time folded in on itself. Memories crashed over me—the girl I'd loved, the one who chose her vows over me, the one I'd walked away from because I couldn't bear to chain her to a life I didn't understand.
And now she was here.
The Encounter
I almost turned away. Almost convinced myself it was a trick of memory, that it couldn't be her. But when the ritual ended and the crowd dispersed, she stepped down from the stage, her eyes scanning the sea of faces until they locked onto mine.
There was no mistake.
Slowly, she approached. Her robes whispered against the stone, her steps unhurried, serene, like she was gliding rather than walking.
"Adra."
Her voice hadn't changed. Calm, soft, but carrying a weight that cut straight through me.
I swallowed. "You..."
"I heard you returned," she said simply. "I wasn't sure until now."
My hands curled into fists. "Why are you here?"
"Our shrine partners with your university for cultural exchange." A faint smile touched her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Fate, perhaps."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Fate likes to play cruel games."
Her gaze lingered on me, steady. "And yet here we are."
For a moment, silence stretched between us. Students bustled around, oblivious, their laughter jarring against the heaviness of our reunion.
Finally, I asked the question that burned in my chest. "Have you... changed your mind?"
Her smile faded. "My vows remain."
The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I nodded stiffly, trying to mask the sting. "Of course."
"But," she added, her voice softer now, "I never stopped hearing you. Even from afar. Your music reached me."
Something inside me cracked open.
Conflict
We found a quieter corner near the shrine booth, away from prying eyes. She folded her hands neatly in front of her, posture straight, every bit the maiden bound by tradition.
"You seem stronger," she said. "Different."
"I had to be," I replied. "I couldn't let the band fall apart. Xiarya carried my silence for two years. Now it's my turn to carry us all."
"And yet..." Her eyes searched mine. "You still look at me the same way."
I didn't deny it. "Because I never stopped."
Her breath hitched, but she shook her head. "Adra, I can't. Not yet. My family, my shrine—"
"I'm not asking you to leave it," I cut in, frustration rising. "I just... I just wanted to know if what we had was real. If it still exists."
Her eyes softened, shimmering with something dangerously close to tears. "It was real. It is real. But reality doesn't always give us what we want."
The ache in my chest deepened. I wanted to reach for her, to tear down the distance between us. But I forced myself still.
Because I knew—if I touched her now, I might not let go.
Resolution
The sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the campus. She adjusted the sleeves of her robe, her expression calm once more.
"Our paths are bound, Adra," she said quietly. "Not by choice, but by thread. If the gods permit, they will cross again. Until then... sing. Let me hear you, even from afar."
Her words settled over me like incense smoke—heavy, lingering, bittersweet.
I nodded slowly. "And you? What will you do?"
She smiled faintly. "Pray. And wait."
And just like that, she turned, her steps steady as she disappeared into the crowd.
I stood rooted, the noise of the festival crashing back into my ears. Laughter, music, chatter—all of it felt distant, muted.
Because all I could hear was the faint chime of a bell.
Closing Scene – Adra's Reflection
That night, the dorm was alive with noise—Steve and Ariela bickering playfully over a law case, Mark teasing Clara while she pretended not to smile, Gelo and Xiarya curled together on the couch reviewing notes for class.
And me? I slipped into my room, closed the door, and let the silence swallow me whole.
The guitar rested against my knee, the strings cool under my fingertips. A notebook lay open on the desk, blank lines waiting.
I began to write. Words spilled out—about unseen threads, about love restrained by vows, about the kind of waiting that doesn't break but bends you quietly, endlessly.
My pen scratched across the page, each line a confession I couldn't say aloud.
And when the words weren't enough, I hummed a melody under my breath. Soft. Fragile. A song meant for one person only.
Outside, the city buzzed with life. Inside, the room echoed with the faintest chime of a bell, lingering in my memory like a promise.
I didn't know when, or if, our paths would cross again. But for the first time, I felt peace carrying both my music and her within me.
Because even if she couldn't walk beside me now... she was still here. In every note. In every word.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.