He ran away.
Just like that, he vanished into the night, leaving only silence... and his violin.
I sat there, too stunned to move. The bench felt colder than before, or maybe it was just me—frozen, abandoned, humiliated. What had I even said? Why did he look so shaken? I stared at the empty path where he'd disappeared, and the only proof that he had even existed today was lying beside me.
His violin.
It looked worn, like it had lived more than a hundred lifetimes. The surface was scratched, the strings slightly frayed. It reminded me of him—rough around the edges, but full of stories. I reached for it, hand trembling.
At first, I wanted to throw it. Smash it against the stone. I felt used. Why did I even open up to him? Why did I cry like a fool?
But then I remembered his eyes when I said those words—"Do you think it's possible to feel two emotions at once?"—and the panic that flashed in them. He didn't just get scared. He was terrified.
Clutching the violin to my chest, I walked back to my rented cabin, feeling heavier than before. The wind howled through the mountain trees, brushing against my skin like whispers from the past. I didn't cry this time. I wanted to, but something inside me had already hardened.
That night, sleep never came.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, holding his violin like it might explain something. My heart throbbed with a strange ache. Why did he run? Was it something I said? I replayed every moment from the day. We laughed. We talked. We shared silence like old friends. I felt seen.
And then—gone.
All I had left was a name.
Reyan.
Meanwhile, in a cramped room , Reyan sat curled near the window, knees pulled to his chest. His eyes were swollen from crying, breath shallow and uneven.
Why did I run? I shouldn't have. I left her there—just like that. What the hell is wrong with me?
His fists clenched. He had left behind the only thing that mattered to him—his violin. The only connection to his father. It wasn't just a mistake—it was like tearing a piece of his soul away.
"I did it again," he whispered bitterly. "I ruined everything."
His mind spun, filled with torment. She trusted me. She opened up to me. She saw something in me—something worth speaking to.
But deep down, what terrified Reyan wasn't her words. It was the truth in them. That someone else felt what he felt. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn't insane after all. That his emotions—the bright ones that kept him alive—belonged to someone. To her.
And that made it real.
And if it was real... then he had been happy after his parents died.
The guilt roared inside him again, wrapping its claws around his throat. He gripped his head, trembling. "It's all my fault. It's always been."
He wept again, broken sobs that didn't make a sound.
Morning arrived slowly.
The first light fell across the violin, still cradled in my arms. I hadn't slept. Not really.
But I had made a decision.
I wasn't going to sit here and wonder what went wrong. I wasn't the type to give up after falling once. If he is broken , then so be it. I knew how that felt. I had survived my darkness—photography saved me.
Maybe I could help him.
So I got up, dressed, and tucked the violin carefully into its case. I didn't know where Reyan lived. I didn't have a number, an address, nothing.
Just a name. And a feeling.
A strange, magnetic pull that told me I had to find him. I didn't know why or how—but I would.
Sahana was holding its famous mountain festival soon. I saw the fliers yesterday, pinned outside shops and inns. Music, art, and lights scattered through the trails. Something told me he would be there.
He wouldn't leave without his violin. And if he did... I'd still wait.
Because that's what you do when you feel something this real. You don't run.
You follow it.