Page 11 of Shattered Melodies

I sighed, my fingers stilling on the keys. “About what, Dad? Let me guess - college, right?”

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is serious, Liam. Your grades have been slipping lately, and your mother and I are concerned. We think you’re spending too much time on this music nonsense and not enough on your studies.”

I bit back a groan. If I had a dollar for every time they called my music “nonsense,” I’d be rich enough to buy my own recording studio. But beneath the frustration, a pang of guilt hit me. They had worked so hard to give me opportunities, sacrificed so much. Was I being ungrateful?

“It’s not nonsense,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Music is important to me, Dad. It’s what I love, what I’m good at. Why can’t you understand that?”

Mom appeared in the doorway, her lips pursed in disapproval. I could see the worry in her eyes, and it made my heart ache. She had always been my biggest supporter, but lately, even she seemed to be losing faith in me.

“We do understand, Liam,” she said softly. “But music is a hobby, not a career. You need to focus on your academics if you want to get into a good college and have a successful future.”

I could feel my frustration rising, bubbling up in my chest like a shaken soda can. But underneath it all was a deep, gnawing fear. What if they were right? What if I was throwing away my future on an impossible dream?

“But what if I don’t want to go to college?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if I want to pursue music instead?”

Dad’s face turned red, his voice rising to a shout. “Absolutely not! We’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much to give you every opportunity. You are not throwing your future away on some silly dream!”

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. I wouldn’t let them see me cry, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. But their words cut deep, feeding the doubts that already plagued me.

“It’s not a silly dream,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s my passion, my life. Why can’t you just support me for once?”

Mom sighed, rubbing her temples like she had a headache. “We do support you, Liam. But we also have to be realistic. The chances of making it in the music industry are slim to none. We just want what’s best for you.”

I slammed the piano lid shut, the sudden silence ringing in my ears. “What’s best for me? Or what’s best for you?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the room, ignoring their shouts for me to come back. I couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand being in that house for one more second.

As I walked down the street, no real destination in mind, my thoughts were a jumbled mess. I loved my parents, I really did. I knew they wanted me to succeed, to have a stable future. But why couldn’t they see that music was more than just a hobby to me? It was like breathing - essential, life-giving.

I thought about Caleb, about the way his eyes lit up when we played together. He believed in me, in my talent. He made me feel like anything was possible. But was that enough? Could I really build a life on passion alone?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Caleb.

“Hey, just finished a new song idea. Can’t wait to show you tomorrow! You’re gonna love it.”

A small smile tugged at my lips despite my turmoil. Just thinking about playing with Caleb and the band made some of the tension ease from my shoulders. When we were making music together, everything else faded away. It felt right in a way nothing else did.

But then reality crashed back in. What kind of future could I really have in music? My parents’ words echoed in my head. Slim to none. Throwing your future away. I’d seen the statistics, heard the stories of struggling musicians. Was I naive to think I could be different?

I found myself at the local park, sinking onto a bench as the weight of my thoughts threatened to overwhelm me. I loved music with every fiber of my being. When I played, I felt alive, connected to something greater than myself. The idea of giving that up, of resigning myself to a life of office work and spreadsheets, made me feel physically ill.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park, I realized I had no easy answers. My future stretched out before me like an unwritten song, full of possibility but also uncertainty. Part of me wanted to play it safe, to follow the path my parents had laid out for me. But another part, the part that came alive when my fingers touched the keys, longed to take a leap of faith.

I pulled out my phone again, scrolling through the photos of our band practices. There was one of Caleb, head thrown back in laughter as he strummed his guitar. Another of Sarah, focused intently on her bass. And Mark, grinning widely behind his drums. These people, this music - it felt like home.

With a deep breath, I stood up, my decision made. I couldn’t give up on my dream, not without at least trying. But I also couldn’t keep fighting with my parents. Somehow, I had to find a way to bridge the gap between their expectations and my passion.

As I walked home, a plan began to form in my mind. I would work harder on my grades, show my parents that I could balance music and academics. And I would prove to them that my music wasn’t just a hobby, but a viable path forward.

It wouldn’t be easy. There would be more arguments, more doubts, more sleepless nights worrying about the future. But as I thought about the upcoming talent show, about the music we’d create together, I felt a spark of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, I could have both - the support of my family and the pursuit of my dreams. It was a delicate balance, a challenging melody to master. But I was determined to try.

The next day at school, I walked into the music room with a newfound sense of determination. The familiar scent of polished wood and sheet music greeted me, a comforting balm to my frayed nerves. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the instruments scattered around the room.

Caleb was already there, perched on a stool, his fingers dancing over the strings of his guitar. The soft, melodic tune he was picking out made my heart skip a beat. He looked up as I entered, his face breaking into a wide grin that never failed to make me feel like I belonged.

“Hey, rock star,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Ready to blow the roof off this place at the talent show?”

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