The morning rain had rinsed the city clean, leaving the streets slick and shining like sheets of glass. Aria walked quickly, her boots splashing in shallow puddles, her heart still heavy from the night before.
The music sheet—Silence—was folded neatly inside her bag. She'd read it a dozen times before falling asleep, though the notes made no sense to her untrained eyes. Still, she couldn't stop staring at the rushed handwriting, the almost desperate slant of the letters.
Her steps slowed when the café came into view. Its amber windows were dim in the daylight, but it still held the memory of that first meeting—his silence, his music, the way the world had seemed to pause around him.
Inside, the bell chimed as she entered. The smell of ground coffee and baked bread wrapped warmly around her. The piano still stood near the window, closed, silent, like a secret too heavy to open.
The waitress from last night glanced up, recognition flickering in her eyes.
"You're back," she said simply.
Aria forced a smile. "Yeah. I… left something behind."
The waitress tilted her head, wiping her hands on her apron. "What was it?"
Aria hesitated. She could feel the folded sheet of music pressing against her side, but she shook her head. "Nothing important."
The waitress didn't push. She went back to arranging cups behind the counter, though her eyes lingered a little too long on Aria. As if she knew more than she let on.
Aria sat at the same table as before, fingers tracing the grain of the wood. Her chest felt restless, her mind replaying the melody that had cracked her open. She wanted answers. She wanted to know his name, his story, the reason why silence seemed to follow him like a shadow.
"Still chasing ghosts, huh?"
The familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Mia slid into the seat opposite her, shaking her umbrella dry before setting it aside. Her sharp eyes narrowed at Aria.
"I knew I'd find you here," Mia said. "Honestly, Aria. What are you doing?"
Aria bristled. "I just came for tea."
"Tea, my ass." Mia leaned forward, lowering her voice. "You're obsessing. About him. About some stranger you don't even know."
Aria's throat tightened. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it?" Mia's tone softened, but the edge remained. "You've barely slept. You keep staring at that damn sheet of paper like it's going to talk to you. You're unraveling, Aria."
Aria gripped the cup the waitress had set down, the steam clouding her vision. "You don't understand. His music… it wasn't just sound. It was like… like he was bleeding and I felt it. Like he was carrying something too heavy, and for one moment, I carried it with him."
Mia's eyes softened with pity, but her words cut clean. "That doesn't mean you can save him."
Aria flinched. Silence stretched between them, thick as smoke.
Before she could reply, another voice broke in.
"You're talking about Elias."
Both women turned.
The speaker was one of the elderly men who usually played chess in the corner. Today he sat alone, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his glasses. His eyes, clouded with age, still carried a sharpness that made Aria's pulse skip.
"Elias," Aria repeated, the name falling heavy on her tongue.
The old man gave a slow nod. "That's his name. At least, the one he uses now."
Mia shot Aria a warning glance, but Aria leaned forward eagerly. "You know him? Who is he?"
The man hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. His fingers worried the edge of his sleeve. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost conspiratorial.
"He used to be someone else. A musician. Brilliant, they said. But something happened. Something that broke him. Since then, he doesn't… talk. Doesn't play, except sometimes, when he forgets himself."
Aria's chest constricted. "What happened?"
The man's eyes lifted, sharp again. "Don't ask. Some silences are better left untouched."
Mia reached across the table, gripping Aria's wrist. "See? Even he's warning you. Let it go."
But Aria couldn't. Her fingers brushed the outline of the music sheet through her bag, the word Silence burned into her mind.
"I can't," she whispered.
The old man's lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, he looked almost afraid. Then he leaned closer, his breath faintly smelling of tobacco.
"If you keep digging," he murmured, "be ready for the weight of what you find. Some truths don't want to be unearthed."
With that, he pushed back his chair, shuffled toward the door, and left. The bell chimed after him, leaving only the faint scent of rain and smoke in his wake.
Mia exhaled sharply, throwing up her hands. "Aria, do you hear yourself? This isn't romantic. It's dangerous."
Aria shook her head, her voice trembling. "It feels like fate. Like I was meant to find him."
Mia's jaw tightened. "Fate doesn't pay rent. Fate doesn't fix broken people."
But Aria barely heard her. Her pulse roared in her ears. Elias. Finally, she had his name. A fragile thread connecting her to him.
Her tea had gone cold. She stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.
"Aria," Mia warned.
"I have to know," Aria said, her voice quiet but firm. "Even if it hurts. Even if it ruins me."
Mia's expression faltered, her anger dimming into fear. "Then promise me one thing. Promise me you won't do it alone."
Aria looked at her best friend, the girl who had stood by her through every stumble, every storm. She wanted to promise. She wanted to believe she could keep Mia close.
But the silence was already pulling her forward.
When she stepped out of the café, the city air was cool and sharp, carrying the faint hum of distant traffic. The folded sheet of music weighed heavily in her bag, heavier than it had last night.
She whispered his name under her breath—"Elias"—and for the first time, the silence around her seemed to answer back.
Somewhere, hidden in the rain-soaked streets, he was waiting. Or maybe warning her away.
Either way, Aria knew she was already too far gone to turn back.