Page 8 of Shattered Echoes

I haven’t unpacked anything yet—everything’s still in boxes downstairs. Leo’s driver moved my stuff before I arrived. After some searching, I finally find the suitcase with my workout clothes and shoes. Not surprising, since I didn’t pack it myself.

I lace up my running shoes and step out into the cool, crisp morning breeze. Strapping on my headphones, I select my song of choice–Beethoven: Symphony no.6. It is my go-to workout song. As I press the play button and the familiar sound of the music fills my ears, I feel myself more attune to the world around me. The soft melody of the violin dances delicately alongside the steady rhythm of my footstep as I run.

Being a rock star, people don't expect me to have much appreciation for classical music the way I do. But I find beauty in the classics. They are timeless. Frankly, I listen to all genres of music because I’m a musician. But something about Western classical music gets me every time. Listening to it feels like stepping into a different world where emotions flow freely and stories unfold.

It brings me peace and calm, and it has helped me get through so many difficult times. Especially now. I've been stuck with writer’s block for what feels like forever. I could not create a single cohesive verse. This has been going on even before the whole drug incident. It's gotten even worse lately because I can't seem to bring myself to tune my guitar, let alone play it.

These days, I sit on the edge of my bed for hours on end, my guitar resting on one knee as I run my fingers over the strings. But the melodies that once flowed effortlessly from the contact of my fingers are now met with emptiness.

I would close my eyes and try to get lost in the music, but I’m always met with a void. I'd do this every day until I gave up out of frustration. There's just a disconnect there. It's like something is missing, you know?

It's depressing for me because music has been my entire life. Hence, listening to music has been my haven as of late, especially the classics. It might not feel the same as playing or making my music, but it gives me a momentary boost. From it, I draw inspiration.

The town is still asleep as there is little to no movement, save for some early risers like me. I can hear the birds chirp over my music as I run through the neighborhood. I keep my head down, not wanting to be recognized just yet. A few neighbors give me questionable looks, which are understandable. I am a stranger to them after all, at least to some of them.

I turn a corner and continue my jog along the street, fog rolling out of the woods, covering my path and shrouding the streets in an ethereal veil. It's still very early in the morning. The buildings lining the road are a mix of Victorian homes with their spires and turrets casting long shadows and modest, mid-century buildings.

It's serene, unlike what I am used to in the big cities. The quiet is a testament to how small the town is and the number of people living in it. Small number of people usually mean everyone knows everyone, and the community is closely knit. That also means that news travels fast and everyone is in each other's business.

As I enter a new street, there are tall trees that could make cool shades on a sunny afternoon. I notice someone running on the opposite side of the road. He is keeping pace with me. I glance over in his direction; our eyes meet for a moment. To my surprise, he goes ahead and gives me a small wave. Politely, I return the gesture by waving back.

I slow my pace, seeing that he is gesturing towards me and saying something. Realizing that I can’t hear him over the music blasting in my ears, the distance between us also adding to it, I reach up, kill the music, and pull the headphones around my neck. With a smile, he crosses the street, closing the distance.

“Hey,” he greets, now standing in front of me, hands crossed in front of his chest.

“Hey,” I reply, meeting his gaze.

Pushing his hair to the back and leaning in slightly, he says, “I run here every morning, and I've never seen you. Are you new in town or just visiting?”

I size him up, not sure what to make of the guy. I note his short, slightly wavy blonde hair, and expressive blue eyes. Just your regular guy next door. There is something about him though that reminds me of a golden retriever–outgoing and eager to meet people. I raise a brow and remain silent, feeling slightly awkward about his need to converse with a stranger.

“What’s it to you?” I ask, the question coming out rude and defensive, not quite what I had in mind.

He raises his hands in surrender, although his lips do not lose their smile.

"When I first came here, the people seemed guarded, and I felt quite lonely during the first few weeks. I merely wanted to make sure that you didn't feel the same way in case you’re new to this place."

I mull over his explanation. His words make sense, and his intentions are good, so I relax slightly and let my guard down. He seems friendly, and I can see he's only trying to make conversation. I indulge him. “Yeah, actually, I'm sort of new but old too,” I try to explain, letting out a short laugh.

He looks at me, amused and with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, what does that even mean?”

“Okay, I just moved back here after a long time, but I grew up right in these streets,” I clarify.

We both erupt in laughter. I don't even know what is so funny, but I laugh because he does. And it feels so good. I can't remember the last time I laughed so wholeheartedly.

“So technically, you're a ‘new guy’ then?” he asks, still grinning as he curls his fingers in air quotes at the new guy.

“I guess so.” I shrug.

“It's nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand for a handshake.

“Yeah, and what did you say your name was?” I inquire, knowing full well he hadn't mentioned it.

“Oh, my bad. I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Elias. Elias Hart,” he replies.

“Nice to meet you, Elias. I don't think your last name rings any bells, though. Or maybe I can’t just remember,” I say, trying hard to recall if I had heard of The Harts before now.

“No, no… um, I'm not from here,” he explains.

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