The sun was setting, casting long amber shadows across the neighborhood. Inside a modest and warmly lit house. Soft piano notes could be heard, delicate and pure. Young Arin Valehart sat at the polished wooden piano, his small fingers dancing over the keys with grace. His eyes, bright and filled with innocence, followed the flow of his ingenuity, a melody he had been working on for days, now finally felt harmonious. Music was his world, a place where pain and weakness could not touch him, where he could dream of soaring high.
He played with a focus that seemed well beyond his age. His brow suddenly furrowed, lips pressed, as he listened to each note he played intently. When he finished playing, he hesitated a moment, and then whispered "again..", seeking more harmony with the ending. Behind him, the house was silent, except for a faint hum that followed his melody, which he never noticed. Arin's parents watched from the doorway- David and Clara Valehart, the couple's love was evident from their tender glance and the humming that came from Clara.
Both Clara and David were artists in their own right, David was once a talented musician too, but the burden of family was heavy and times were unforgiving. And Clara, a painter whose gentle eyes saw stories she wanted seen. David's gaze stayed fixed on his son, a mixture of pride and a quiet ache. He had once dreamed of performing on a stage, creating music that resonated with the masses, but life's cruel twists had pulled him away from those dreams. Now, he could only watch as Arin created his own universe filled with melodies that resonate with him.
*Clap*, David finally broke the silence that filled the room as Arin fell into a trance. "Beautifully played" He said softly, holding back his longing for the dreams he had buried deep within his heart.
Arin turned to face his father, eyes shining. "Do you think i can be as good as the musicians on TV someday?"
His mother, Clara, also stepped into the room with a warm smile on her face. She carried a mug of tea, steam rising gently from its surface. Her eyes were filled with pride, yet tinged with concern. She brushed her hand over Arin's dark hair, ruffling it affectionately.
"You're very special, Arin" She said. "But remember even the brightest stars need to rest"
Arin nodded eagerly, a wide smile plastered across his face. "A star! that what i want to be! i want everyone to hear my songs, i want to be the best!". The six year old boy believed, no, he knew that he would change the world with his music.
That night, after dinner and a warm chat with his family, Arin climbed into his tiny bed, clutching a worn-out sheet embroidered with musical notes. His eye's closed as he drifted into sleep with a faint smile, the melody from his latest practice still echoing softly in his head.
Arin's talent blossomed quickly in the coming years with the full support of his family. By the age of nine, he was composing pieces that were intricately filled with many layers and emotions rivalling seasoned musicians. His parents watched witched with pride, but underneath the happy smiles, a growing concern slowly lit.
His body though fragile had never betrayed him till now. Arin believed his mothers words "You're just growing, your body is still young. It'll grow stronger with time.". Whenever he woke up exhausted, and his body trembled from light work or short practice sessions, Clara and David's gentle words and hopeful smiles helped him stay strong.
But at the age of ten, Arin started understanding his condition better. Sometimes, he could feel his body resisting, as if it was not his own. His limbs would tremble, his breathing unstable, and a deep ache could be felt in his chest. He didn't know what it was, only that his body was failing him.
One evening, at the age of eleven, after a long day of practicing and composing, Arin collapsed. His body shaking violently, he felt his chest clutch hard, the kind of feeling you get when you face certain death. David rushed to his side, eyes wide with panic.
"Arin!! What is it?? Talk to me!"
Arin gasped, catching his breath and tried to sit up, "I'm fine dad, i just... need to keep going."
His father's face twisted with anguish. "you're scaring me and your Mother son. You don't need to push yourself so hard."
Arin looked away, blinking back tears. "I just don't want to be.. useless." He rubbed at his face, trying to hide the tears that started flowing uncontrollably. "I want to help. I want to be strong like you and Mom."
David's expression softened, He pulled Arin into a tight hug. "Hey! just seeing you is helping us. We love you, and that's more than enough."
Clara knelt beside them, slowly caressing his hair. " Lets get you inside, You're tired. We'll figure this out together. Okay?"
Arin nodded, sniffling, as David picked him up like a sack, prompting a slight giggle from Arin and his mom. That night, as he lay in bed, the music he was practicing lingered in his mind, a melody he'd been working on for weeks. It was meant to be his masterpiece, or what he thought was his best work as of yet, capturing everything he felt from hope, fear and love.
The Valehart home changed after the night in which Arin fainted. His parents grew quieter, keeping a watchful eye on their son at all times, anxiety peaking, as they tried to keep daily life warm and gentle. Arin himself was subdued, lingering at the piano but playing less, lost in thought.
A week passed. Arin's energy slowly returned, but a sliver of uncertainty remained. This night was like every other, a quiet dinner followed by warm goodnights from his parents, Arin found himself slipping away to a shut eye quickly.
But once he fell asleep, he was drawn into a vivid dream, a dream unlike any before. He stood on a grand, empty stage beneath a starless sky. His hands found the keys of a piano, and he began to play a song he'd never heard. The music was sweet yet chilling to hear, filling the vast space to the brim. As the melody continued Arin found that he was growing older. What scared him was not the aging, but rather how he saw his body rapidly deteriorate like a dead body that was decaying.
He tried to see the faces in the audience, but there were none. He called out, yelled out in fear, but his voice was swallowed out by the crescendo, leaving only the song and a deep feeling of loss. That's when Arin woke up, the dream still replaying in his head. He lay staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling of comfort that he felt from the melody, and the fear of seeing his body wilt.
That evening, as darkness settled over his room, Arin found himself at the piano. The memory of the dream guided his fingers, as he began to play the mysterious melody he saw himself play. The tune was incomplete, but it felt alive, but fragile as a glass, filled with longing. He quickly noted his thoughts down, not wanting to forget what might be a far greater melody than the one he was previously working on.
He didn't understand what the dream meant for him, or why it left him feeling both comforted and sad. All he knew was something had changed, or rather something had begun. The emotions he conveyed when playing felt stronger, tinged with longing.
With a soft sigh, Arin stopped thinking about the dream, but let himself get lost in the melody. Promising to himself that one day, he'd finish that song, no matter how long it took.