The sky is new, the people too
But I’m still the same
I’m better, I’m wiser, but still, there’s this pain
She glances up, smiling. “Hi.”
“Hi. Sounds like it’s going well.”
“Not so well. I can’t get this song right. It was meant to be upbeat, but it keeps turning melancholy.”
“Perhaps that’s the start of your next song.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
I can hear the frustration in her voice, the familiar battle of trying to force something to stick to the original vision long after it’s taken on a life of its own.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little melancholy,” I say. “I think you should lean into it. Keep writing.”
She nods. “I will. Thanks.”
I glance at the patio chair. “Do you mind if I…?”
“No, not at all—please. I’d like the company. I’m done playing anyway.”
“Oh?” I watch in disappointment as she sets her guitar aside.
“I was just trying to memorise some new lyrics. Willoughby suggested some changes.”
She must catch something in my expression because she insists, “But they’re good changes. Really good.”
I give a faint smile. “Alright. Well, I think the scout will be impressed.”
She brightens. “Willoughby said the same thing. He thinks my songs are special.”
The affection in her voice hits me harder than I expect. She’s simply excited about the music, but it’shispraise that sparked it, and I can’t help feeling the loss of something I never truly had.
“That’s good,” I manage. “I’m glad he’s being supportive.”
Your songs are special, I want to add.
She nods, smiling. “He’s been great, actually. He even wants me to take the lead on one of our songs in the set. Says it’ll show range, and that thescout will notice.”
I raise a brow. “I thought you would sing all of your songs. They’re yours.”
“I am. We both are. Together. But some lend themselves better to a male voice. I’ll be doing backup vocals for those.”
I don’t quite know what to say. Does she hear it? The absurdity? The way she chews her lip tells me she does. I temper my response accordingly, focusing less on dismantling Jack and more on her.
“You’ve come a long way, you know. When you arrived, you were nervous to play in front of me. And now here you are, talking about gigs and scouts.”
Her cheeks flush. “Yeah. I guess I have.”
“You should be proud,” I add quietly, my words laden with feeling. “I know I am.”
We hold each other’s gaze a moment too long, the silence tightening until my restraint seems futile, my longing for her undeniable.
She drops her gaze shyly, her guitar resting between us like a boundary.
