The afternoon felt unusually quiet.
Soft golden light streamed through the tall window, painting the room in a warm glow. Dust floated gently in the air, drifting like tiny, silent stars.
Everything seemed calm… almost too calm.
At the center of a room stood a piano.
Seated before it, Mari played with perfect posture, her fingers moving gracefully across the keys. Each note was clear, controlled, and precise—like a carefully crafted piece of art.
Beside her stood Sunny, holding his violin.
He followed her rhythm.
Minutes passed.
The music continued, but something felt off.
Sunny's notes began to fall slightly behind. His bow moved a little slower. His fingers pressed the strings with less certainty.
Then
he stopped.
"I'm… tired."
His voice was quiet, almost lost between the fading notes.
Mari continued playing for a few seconds longer before finally stopping. She took a small breath and turned toward him.
"Just a little more," she said softly, though there was firmness beneath her tone.
"We're almost perfect."
Sunny looked down at his violin.
He didn't respond.
Outside the window, a white butterfly drifted by.
It fluttered gently, landing for a moment near the glass.
its wings opened and closed slowly,
as if it had all the time in the world.
Sunny's eyes followed it.
"Sunny."
Mari's voice pulled him back.
"Let's start again."
There was a pause.
Sunny let out a quiet breath.
"…Okay."
He lifted his violin again.
The music restarted.
Time felt heavier and slower now.
Each note was no longer played out of passion… but obligation.
Sunny's hands trembled slightly. The sound of his violin grew rough, uneven. Small mistakes slipped through.
Mari stopped abruptly.
"That was wrong."
Sunny stayed silent.
"Again."
This time, her voice held no softness.
Something inside Sunny finally snapped.
He lowered his violin.
"…I don't want to do this anymore."
Silence filled the room.
Mari stared at him, disbelief flickering in her eyes.
"We're not done."
Sunny shook his head.
Then he turned—
and walked out.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Mari stood up quickly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor.
"Sunny!"
She ran after him.
The hallway felt narrower than usual. The light dimmed as the sun slowly dipped lower.
She caught up to him near the stairs.
Grabbing his arm, she stopped him.
"You can't just walk away!"
Sunny tried to pull free.
"I'm tired!"
Mari tightened her grip.
"This matters!"
Sunny turned toward her, his eyes filled with something deeper than anger—
frustration.
"Why does everything have to be perfect?!"
Their movements became unsteady.
In the struggle, Sunny's arm jerked—
and the violin slipped.
Time slowed.
The instrument fell…
bouncing against each step…
until—
CRASH.
The sound shattered the silence of the house.
Mari froze.
Her eyes moved slowly toward the bottom of the stairs.
Then back to Sunny.
"That was expensive…"
Her voice trembled—not just with anger, but something heavier.
"That mattered."
Sunny said nothing.
The tension broke.
All the pressure Mari had been holding inside suddenly burst out.
"You never take this seriously!"
She pushed him.
It wasn't a strong push.
It wasn't meant to hurt.
But it was enough.
Sunny stepped back.
His foot missed the edge.
His balance slipped.
And—
he fell.
Silence.
No music.
No footsteps.
Only the faint sound of Mari's uneven breathing.
Her hair fall in her face...closing one of her eye
Her hand remained frozen in the air…
as if trying to take back what had already happened.
The golden light from before now felt cold.
And the room—
once filled with music—
felt empty.