It wasn’t raining that day.

The sun was out, golden and slow, pouring like honey through the tall windows of the music room. Dust hovered in the light, drifting lazily like it had nowhere else to be. Faint echoes of other clubs carried down the hallway, some clatter of robotics, a cheer from debate, but here, inside these walls, the air felt still. Charged. Like something was waiting.

He hadn’t thought much of it when he asked her to come. She was his seatmate in class. They’d had a few light conversations, music, mostly. She'd mentioned she liked it. That was enough.

He didn’t expect anything. 

She walked in, calm as ever, and when her name came up on the signup list, she didn’t fidget or laugh nervously. She didn’t preface anything with, “I’m not that good.” She just moved to the piano, sat down, and smoothed the pleats of her skirt like it was any other afternoon. Then her fingers found the keys, as if they’d been waiting for her.

He'd heard a few others before her. Some good, some... ambitious. But none like her.

Then she played.

A quiet waltz at first, soft and slow, like memory wrapped in sound. It was the kind of melody that makes you feel nostalgic for something you’ve never lived. Something tender and half-remembered. It filled the room, and for a moment, it felt like the air had leaned in to listen.

And just when he thought that was all, she sang.

Her voice wasn’t flawless. It wasn’t polished. But it was real. Low, husky at the edges, and warm in a way that made him feel like he was being let in on a secret. Every note came from somewhere deeper than her throat, like she’d reached down and pulled it from her chest, her bones, maybe even her soul. And as the music spilled out of her, it wrapped around the room and refused to leave.

He forgot how to breathe.

He’d heard better voices, technically. But none that made him feel like this. None that made him want to sit still and just be there, caught in the moment, suspended like dust in sunlight.

He looked at her.

Really looked at her.

Her eyes caught the light. Brighter than he’d ever noticed. And in them, something... sparked. Not performative. Not showy. Just real. Something soft and alive, something that didn’t need applause to know it mattered.

It hit him then, quiet, like a door clicking open somewhere deep in his chest. Admiration had turned into something else. Slower. Deeper. 

Not quite love. 

But something with gravity.

That was the moment it changed. The moment he stopped seeing her as the girl who sat two seats away in English and started seeing her as a world. A world he didn’t understand yet—but wanted to.

When the last note faded, she looked up, a little startled by the gentle applause, like she hadn’t even realized anyone was still watching.

Her eyes met his—and something inside him settled.

They weren’t just bright.

They were somewhere.

And part of him knew—even before he could name it—that he was already lost.