Once more, my eyes drifted back to the lit window upstairs. It was still early. There would be enough time to spend with him later—something to look forward to. For now, though, it was family time.
I followed Mila inside and ran straight into Grandpa. He had just grabbed a bowl of chips and offered to share. So we sat down together and spent a few minutes talking about the new vet he was training to take over the clinic, and about how much we bothmissed Grandma. Eventually, my aunt and her husband joined us and showed us pictures of my two-year-old niece’s latest playground adventures.
Before I knew it, an hour had passed. I found myself actually enjoying conversations with the family for the first time in a while. Still, every time I glanced around to see if Alex had come downstairs yet, he was nowhere in sight. Hopefully, what we had done up in the mountains hadn’t opened a can of worms.
Another hour passed before I finally made it to my candle. Mine was still flickering, quietly waiting, while Alex’s had already been blown out, making me wonder when he had done it.
I stared into the flame. For hours, I had known my wish would be for Alex. The story he had told me about his family still lingered in my mind. I still didn’t believe these wishes worked, but after meeting him, I hoped they would. He deserved a better future.
Alex, I wish for you to find the love and the happy family you deserve.
I blew out the candle. A thin line of black smoke curled upward, which was my cue to leave and check on him.
When I reachedthe second floor, soft piano music drifted down the hallway, making me slow my steps. The melody faltered between chords, and so did I. A few more notes followed, tentative, searching for shape.This wasn’t a recording. Alex had to be playing himself.
When the melody began again from the top, I crept closer. Warm chords, accompanied by mumbled lyrics sung under his breath. I couldn’t make out the words, but the sound aloneloosened the tension in my shoulders. This wasn’t mindless noodling. Alex was actually working on something that could turn into a full-blown pop anthem.
For five minutes, I stood there, listening. He had already worked out a verse and a pre-chorus, but whenever he reached the chorus, he stopped and tried something new. Every attempt was good, but not quite there yet.
Hearing him took me back to when I had lived in that room, doing the same thing, only with far less talent and a guitar instead of a keyboard.
His song was so inviting, I wanted to sing along with everything I had. I leaned against the wall, quietly humming under my breath when the music stopped again. Unlike before, he didn’t start over from the beginning. After a second of silence, footsteps moved toward me, and my heart began to pound.
His door swung open before I could come up with an escape plan. Startled, I leaped back but only managed to stumble into the sideboard and knock over a vase of dried flowers.
We locked eyes.
And all I could come up with was one word: “Shit.”
