The bell above the café door rang twice.
Joseph relaxed before he even turned.

Joseph sighed.
" if you’re here to yell about the espresso machine again, I swear it wasn’t me this time—”

“Joseph?”

Mr. Jaafar stood in the doorway, coat damp, eyes already smiling.

Joseph grinned. “See? Still alive. Still dramatic.”

Jaafar shook his head fondly. “You disappear and this is how you greet me?”

“You miss me,” Joseph said easily. “Don’t pretend you don't.”

Mira watched the exchange with something like relief.
Joseph had worked here before Evan—long shifts, bad pay, endless teasing. Jaafar had never admitted it, but he liked him. Joseph was the kind who befriended all customers.

“What are you all doing here so early?” Jaafar asked, his gaze drifting past them toward the back room.

“Evan got hurt,” Joseph said, the humor softening but not vanishing. “So we staged a hostile takeover.”

Jaafar nodded. “I only came to check the keys. Thought I’d left them—”
He hesitated. “I met a dark-haired woman outside. She was… beautiful.”

Joseph’s smile faded, just a little.

“She asked about an old blue book,” Jaafar went on. “Said she’d forgotten it here. I told her she could come back tomorrow.”

From the back room, Evan’s breath caught.
Instinctively, he slid the book beneath the mattress, fingers trembling.

“There’s no blue book,” Evan called out.

Joseph turned, surprised.

“But,” Evan added quickly, pointing, “someone dropped a key. On the counter.”

For the first time, Joseph didn’t joke.

Mira’s eyes flicked to Evan.
Then to Joseph.
Then back again.

No one said anything.

Some secrets didn’t need words to be shared.

Jaafar reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two small, steaming croissants.
“For you two,” he said, setting them on the counter. “You’re going to need your strength for whatever trouble you’re brewing.”

Joseph chuckled, taking a croissant. “You always know when to feed us, old man.”

“And stop calling me old man,” Jaafar said with a grin. “I’m still as young as ever.”

“You’ve been saying that for decades,” Joseph said, shaking his head.

Jaafar smirked. “So… Leilana? Still bossing around that old library of hers?”

“No, grandma travelled back to her people,” Joseph said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Funny… that library feels smaller every time I go back.”

Jaafar nodded, eyes distant for a moment. “Yeah… Jeff and I rented that first place for her, we thought she and your mom would never survive on their own.”

"she is not my moth-“ Joseph’s gaze flicked toward the counter, thoughtful. “I’ll grab a few things from her old place this week… maybe drop them in your garage. It’s small, but… practical.”

Jaafar raised an eyebrow. “Small can be useful. Especially if you find… unexpected things.”

Mira smiled faintly, warmth settling into her chest as she accepted her croissant. She held hers for a moment, then tore it in half and slid a piece toward Evan.

“For you,” she said softly. “I… thought you might need it.

Evan blinked, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. He took the piece, warmth spreading beyond the flaky pastry.

That afternoon—

The garage smelled like dust and old wires.

Mira rested her bass against her knee, fingers hovering, not playing. The others were tuning, laughing softly, arguing about tempos.

“Finished the lyrics?” Damian asked, adjusting his guitar strap. “That song you showed us last time—it’s really good.”

Mira hesitated.

“Fans would love it,” Qi Shi added from behind the drums. “We also need to perform at the open concert on Thursday, remember?”

“Yes, you’re right. We don’t have much time,” Mira responded.

She almost told them.
Almost said it isn’t mine.

Instead, she shrugged. “I might change it.”

Damian laughed, shaking his head.
“Ah, here we go again. Mira, it’s totally perfect—no need to stress.”

Mira looked down at her strings, a strange heaviness settling in her chest.

This is wrong.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s rehearse it.”

As the melody filled the room, Mira didn’t notice the air shifting—
or the way the sea, miles away, stirred in answer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

The night air had cooled, mist curling around the streetlights as Mira made her way home. She nearly collided with someone at the corner

“Oh, sorry,” she said automatically, stepping back.

The woman had already steadied herself. Her hair was damp from the mist, a long black coat clinging to her shoulders. Up close, Mira noticed the scar near her left eye—thin, pale, as if it had faded with time but never fully disappeared.

The woman smiled first.

“No harm done,” she said. Her voice was calm, measured. Curious.

Mira nodded, about to move on, when the woman spoke again.

“You’re Mira,” she said. “From Eve.”

Mira blinked. “Oh—yeah. I am.”

“I’m a huge fan,” the woman continued. “I’ve been following your band for a while now.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Mira’s face. “Really? Thank you.”

The woman’s gaze lingered, thoughtful. Not intrusive—evaluating. As if she were listening to something Mira couldn’t hear.

“When is your next concert?” she asked.

“Thursday,” Mira replied. “The 24th. It’s an open concert.”

The woman’s smile deepened, just slightly. “I’ll be there.”

She tilted her head. “You’re very talented,” she added. “It shows in the way you write music”.

Mira felt something tighten in her chest. “Thanks,” she said again, softer this time.

The woman gave a small nod, then stepped past her, disappearing down the street as quietly as she’d arrived.

Mira stood there for a moment longer than necessary, the night suddenly colder against her skin.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

At home, the apartment was dim and quiet. Her parents were still working, as always. Her sister had long since left for the police station, the click of her boots already fading down the hallway. The apartment felt too overwhelming and large. Only Yani, her black-and-white cat, meandered around her feet, purring.

Mira knelt, letting the cat nuzzle her hands. “Hey, Yani,” she whispered, a hollow smile forming. “Guess it’s just us tonight.”

Mira dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her shoes, the woman’s words looping in her head.

You’re very talented.

She sat on the edge of her bed, bass case leaning against the wall.

If that were true, she thought,

Why did the melody in my head belong to someone else? Why did every attempt to change it feel wrong—like I was erasing something that doesn't want to be erased?

She pictured Damian’s easy confidence. Qi Shi’s certainty. The way everyone had looked at her when she played, like the answer had always been obvious.

Maybe they were wrong.

Or worse—maybe they weren’t.

Mira lay back and stared at the ceiling, Thursday already looming closer than it should have.

She thought about the song, about the words she had hummed in the garage. She had almost told the others it wasn’t hers. She had almost… been honest.

But she hadn’t.

She tried to change it in her mind, tried to rewrite the melody, but it wouldn’t come out the way she wanted. Every note she imagined felt heavy.

Her chest tightened. The lie was harmless, she told herself. But somehow it already felt larger.

Mira glanced at the window, the sea glimmered faintly, reflecting the streetlights, restless and distant. She shivered, though the air was warm. Something inside her mirrored it—shifting.

And for the first time that night, Mira wondered whether some truths, no matter how small, were impossible to keep from surfacing.

The front door opened.

“Hey,” Wanda said, stepping inside, shrugging off her police jacket. Her hair was tied back perfectly, even after the long shift. Tired—but composed. Always composed.

Mira looked up from the couch. “You’re early.”

“Wrapped a case sooner than expected,” Wanda said, dropping her bag by the door. She paused, glancing around. “Parents won’t be home until late, again.”

Of course.

Mira nodded, letting the silence stretch.

“Long day?” Wanda asked, her voice casual, but her eyes sharp.

“Something like that.” Mira hesitated. Then, before she could chicken out:
“Can I ask you something?”

Wanda leaned against the counter. “Sure.”

“Remember the file I asked you to look into?” Mira asked, careful, soft. “Miss Nana. She… disappeared years ago.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. She looked down at the floor for a moment. “I’ve looked. It’s… strange. Her file’s incomplete.”

“Incomplete how?” Mira asked, her voice tightening. 

Wanda hesitated. “The record mentions someone who was present with her the day she drowned, but it never says who. And other parts are missing. Archives, clerical errors—maybe just bad luck.”

Mira’s chest tightened. “So maybe she’s… dead. And we’ll never know what really happened.”

Wanda didn’t answer at once. Finally, softly “It’s possible.”

The words landed like stones in Mira’s stomach. Evan’s face flickered in her mind—years of waiting, hoping, believing.

“It must be nice,” Mira said, bitter, almost to herself.

“Nice?” Wanda asked, confused.

“To be so sure,” Mira said. “To look at things and already know how they end.” 

“Mira,” Wanda said, her voice firmer now.

“Right,” Mira snapped. “Nothing’s ever fair.”

Wanda looked at her, something flickering in her eyes—concern and frustration “You don’t always have to carry everything alone, you know.”

“I’m fine. At least… I don’t feel the need to prove something” Mira said, forcing the word out. A practiced smile curved her lips, thin and functional.

Wanda didn’t argue which somehow made it worse.

Mira stood, heading down the hall. 

The door to her room closed softly behind her.

___________________________________________________________________

Mira sank onto her bed, Yani curling against her side, purring softly. Her fingers hovered over the edge of the vinyl stack she kept neatly by the wall—Larry Graham, James Jamerson, Geddy Lee, John Entwistle, Cliff Burton. She lingered on the Japanese city pop records, Mariya Takeuchi, Miki Matsubara, the neon-bright grooves wrapping around her like a warm tide. She traced the covers gently, letting the music fill the room in her mind, imagining the basslines curling through her fingers. 

Each bassline spoke to her differently—some commanding, some playful, some wistful. And yet… she felt a hollow tug inside her. She thought of the melody in her head, the one she hadn’t written herself.

The faint scent of old cardboard and ink filling her nostrils. The hum of the city outside seemed distant, as if the room had its own rhythm. Maybe that’s the point—music wasn’t about control. It was about listening, feeling, letting the notes breathe, even when they weren’t yours.

She exhaled slowly, letting her gaze drift to the ceiling. The records hummed in quiet agreement.

Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand. 

Joseph

“Hey,” his voice answered immediately, casual, teasing, but somehow comforting.

“Hi,” Mira said softly, unsure why her chest felt tight.

“You sound… weird,” Joseph said. “Not like it's the first time. Don't tell me Yani refused to play your bass again?”

Mira let out a short laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that,” she murmured.

“I can tell,” he said gently. “What’s going on?”

She explained about Miss Nana’s file. How parts were missing, how the record said someone was with her the day she drowned—but no name. How Evan had been waiting all these years, hoping, believing.

“That’s rough,” Joseph said quietly. “He’s… lucky you care so much.”

Mira swallowed. “I just—” She stopped herself from telling him about the poem she stole.

There was a pause. Then Joseph said, “I'll probably take Evan’s shift tomorrow. I think he’s still sick”

“Yeah,” Mira whispered.

“And… maybe we can meet at the house afterward. No one’s home since my grandma left, and… well, it might be easier than the café,” Joseph suggested.

Mira hesitated, thinking of her apartment—empty rooms, Wanda always there first, her parents absent or preoccupied. Maybe leaving for a couple days, being somewhere where she mattered… She imagined it, and a small, hesitant hope stirred inside her.

“And what about me?” Joseph added, a teasing note in his voice. “Or am I just the sidekick in this rescue mission?”

Mira smiled faintly. “of course, it's both of you,” she said softly, though her mind was already elsewhere—being somewhere else for a little while, away from Wanda, away from feeling like she had to compete for care or attention.

“Good,” Joseph said, relief in his voice. “We’ll see you tomorrow then. You can leave the serious stuff at the door, okay?”

Mira laughed softly, letting herself relax just a little. “Okay,” she said.

She hung up, Yani nuzzling her hand, and for the first time that evening, she felt the tight knot in her chest loosen slightly. There were still worries, still the weight of the song, the missing file, Evan’s grief—but for a moment, she wasn’t carrying them alone.