The rain had stopped by morning, but the city still carried its damp breath. Puddles shimmered in the cracks of the pavement, reflecting broken neon signs that hadn't gone dark yet. Aria sat by the window of her apartment, staring at the world outside without really seeing it.
Her fingers traced the sheet music she had left on the table overnight. The ink had smudged further, faint grey streaks where her restless hands had lingered. But the title was still clear. Silence.
She hated how much power a single word could hold.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Mia, unread. Probably more questions, maybe even worry. But Aria didn't have the strength to explain something she barely understood herself. She needed answers, not comfort.
And answers wouldn't come by sitting here, clutching paper.
She rose abruptly, grabbed her coat, and tucked the sheet music carefully into her bag. The morning air outside was sharp, laced with the faint metallic tang of yesterday's rain. Every corner of the city seemed alive with possibility, with clues she hadn't yet uncovered.
Her first step was the café.
The bell above the door chimed the same way it had last night, a sound that now made her chest tighten. The waitress looked up from behind the counter, surprise flickering in her eyes.
"You're back," she said softly.
Aria offered a small smile. "Yeah. I… I wanted to ask you something."
The waitress hesitated, drying her hands on her apron. "About him?"
Aria nodded.
The older woman leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Like I told you—he doesn't say much. Barely anything at all. But I remember the first time he came here… months ago. He sat at the piano like it belonged to him. Played for hours, then left without a word."
Aria's heart stirred. "Do you know his name?"
The waitress shook her head. "Sorry. But…" She hesitated, as if weighing whether to continue. "I heard someone once call him Elias. Don't know if it's his real name."
Elias.
The sound of it settled into Aria's bones, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
She whispered it under her breath, tasting the syllables, feeling how right it seemed. Elias.
The waitress straightened. "That's all I know. But…" She gave Aria a long look. "Be careful. People carry silence for a reason."
Aria left the café with her pulse hammering. Elias. At last, she had something—someone—to chase.
The city stretched before her like a maze, but she followed instinct more than reason. Every step felt guided by the fragment of melody still echoing in her chest. She wandered through side streets, past shuttered bookstores and antique shops whose windows reflected her determined gaze.
When she passed a music store, she stopped.
Rows of instruments gleamed behind the glass: violins, guitars, a grand piano that reminded her too much of him. Without thinking, she pushed the door open.
A small bell tinkled, and the scent of polished wood and varnish wrapped around her. The man behind the counter looked up, his glasses sliding down his nose.
"Looking for something specific?" he asked.
Aria hesitated, then reached into her bag. She pulled out the sheet music, smoothing it on the counter. "Do you recognize this?"
The man adjusted his glasses, studying the page. "Hmm. Handwritten. Not professional notation, but… emotional. See here?" He pointed to uneven marks on the staff. "Whoever wrote this wasn't copying. They were bleeding it out directly. Raw."
Aria's throat tightened. "Do you know who might've written it?"
The man frowned thoughtfully. "No. But… I've seen someone carrying pages like this before. A man. Tall, quiet. Scar along his jaw."
Her breath caught. "Elias?"
The shopkeeper tilted his head. "He never gave his name. Comes in sometimes, just to look at the pianos. Doesn't buy. Doesn't speak. Just… listens."
Aria's fingers curled around the paper. "Do you know where he lives?"
The man shook his head. "No. But he always leaves heading toward the river district. You might try there."
The river.
Aria left the shop, her heart racing with every step toward the place the shopkeeper had mentioned. The city grew quieter as she walked—the bustle of markets fading into narrow streets where old buildings leaned against each other like weary companions.
By the time she reached the river, the air smelled of damp stone and faint rust. The water moved sluggishly, carrying bits of debris, catching glimmers of sunlight. Along the bank, people lingered: fishermen, vendors, children throwing stones.
And then she saw him.
Elias stood near the edge, coat collar turned up against the breeze. His gaze wasn't on the river but beyond it, as if the horizon itself whispered secrets only he could hear.
Aria's steps faltered. Every part of her screamed to turn back, to let the silence remain unbroken. But the sheet music in her bag burned like fire.
She moved closer.
"Elias."
The name slipped from her lips before she realized she'd spoken.
He turned. The movement was slow, deliberate. His eyes met hers, and for a moment she thought she saw something flicker there—recognition, maybe even fear.
Her breath caught.
"I… I found this." She pulled the paper from her bag, holding it out with trembling hands. "You dropped it."
His gaze lowered to the sheet, then back to her. He didn't reach for it. Didn't move at all.
"Why?" Her voice cracked. "Why this song? Why me?"
The silence between them stretched, heavy and unbearable. She searched his face, desperate for anything—an answer, a clue, a single word.
But he only closed his eyes, turned away, and began to walk.
Aria's heart lurched. She ran after him, rainwater splashing under her shoes. "Please! Just tell me something! Anything!"
He stopped abruptly. For a moment, she thought he might finally speak.
But when he turned, his lips pressed tightly, eyes dark and haunted, all he did was look at her—as if she were the question he couldn't bear to answer.
Her chest ached. "What broke you?" she whispered.
The river wind carried her words away, and Elias walked on, leaving her with nothing but the echo of silence.
And yet, as the distance grew, Aria felt it in her bones: he wanted to be found.