The following week blurred into a rhythm neither Amelia nor Elias had expected. Every evening, after her café shifts, she found herself at his apartment—a minimalist space with white walls, shelves full of books, and an upright piano standing like a sentinel in the corner.
It was nothing like her cluttered, music-stained room. Elias's world was clean, calculated, almost sterile. Yet when she brought her violin out, the room transformed.
On this evening, she sat on the windowsill, bow poised, as Elias scribbled numbers furiously across his notebook. His handwriting was sharp, precise, as if every stroke was a battle.
"Play this sequence," he said, pushing the notebook toward her.
Amelia sighed. "Do you ever say please?"
He blinked at her. "Please… play this sequence."
She smirked. "Better."
Raising the violin, she followed the markings. At first, the melody sounded mechanical, lifeless. But then she bent the notes, adding warmth where his logic had left them bare. Slowly, the melody blossomed into something breathtaking.
Elias watched, transfixed. He didn't move, didn't even breathe, until she lowered her bow.
"That," she said, catching his stare, "is the difference between equations and music. Soul."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice softer than she'd ever heard, Elias whispered, "That was… beautiful."
Amelia tilted her head. "Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment."
"It was." His eyes didn't leave hers. "From me, that's rare."
She felt her chest tighten. Heat climbed her neck, and she quickly busied herself with adjusting her bow. "So," she said lightly, "what do you call this… whatever we're creating?"
Elias considered, tapping his pen against the notebook. "An unfinished theorem."
"Wrong." She smiled faintly. "It's music. Our music."
He studied her again—too intently, too deeply. Amelia suddenly became hyper-aware of the silence between them, thick and charged. The city lights spilled through the window, painting Elias's face in soft gold.
"Why do you stay?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked. "What?"
"You have no reason to be here. I'm… not easy to be around. People don't stay."
Amelia set her violin down and leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. "Maybe I don't want easy."
His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. For once, Elias Volkner looked lost.
The air was too heavy. Amelia laughed softly, breaking it. "Besides, someone has to stop you from turning music into a math exam."
To her surprise, he smiled. Not the sharp, fleeting smirk she'd seen before. A real, fragile smile. And in that moment, Amelia realized two things:
One—Elias Volkner was far more human than he let anyone see.
And two—she was already in danger of falling for him.