Page 33 of Meet Me at the Metro

Deep down, I wasn’t expecting her to listen, especially given how stubborn I’d seen her be, but she proved my assumptions wrong as she slammed the door shut and left me to my own.

I soak in the silence around me, Nora’s raspy but soft voice no longer pervading my senses. I fight the urge to storm after her, to demand answers from her as to why she feels so damn irresistible—to ask her if she can’t quit thinking about me the same way that I can’t quit thinking about her…

I’m going mental.I’m actually going bloody mental.

“FuckingNora,” I mutter, annoyed at my lack of mental restraint to not think about her.

Lost in a haze of emotions, I strike my hands mindlessly against the piano keyboard, causing an awful, abrupt chord to ring through the room. The sheets of music in front of me fly onto the floor.

“Shit.”I instantly panic, working madly to pick up the pieces of scattered paper—the only pieces I still have left ofhim.

It’s been ten years since I’ve heardhisvoice. The notes on the pages were the only way I could even come close to hearing him anymore. The harmonies within them brought his soul to life when they were played, even if it was for the briefest of moments.

As soon asGildenhillannounced the senior performance critique, I immediately knew that this was the piece I was going to perform to end my senior year—his piece. He had played it for me countless times before, but the years have done little favor in helping me remember each of the notes written within the fading black ink.

This is precisely why I’ve been working my arse off, trying to transpose the chords and keys before they vanish for good. It’s been a struggle to transfer the music to new paper, and if I don’t figure it out soon, I will lose every piece of him.

Maybe if I explained all that to Nora, she would understand why I acted the way I did the first night we met. Maybe then, she could understand where I’m coming from… but then again, what the hell does it even matter? Any possible friendship between the two of us is gone. My bad attitude and smart-arse mouth has reassured me that.

As my hands finally gather the last few sheets, I catch sight of the signature at the bottom of the very last page, and my stomach drops. Memories of the past begin to bleed into the present, and without warning, my heart takes off in a crescendo. I do my best to distract myself from the sudden palpitations growing in my chest and quickly gather my belongings. Dad’s voice is an echo in the back of my mind, and I try so damn hard to smother it before it brings me right back to that day…

The crisp winter breeze blowing against my skin and the smell of—

I push out of the music room door just as the memory resurfaces, letting the cool air of the night blow it away and fill my lungs with theoxygen they’re so desperately begging for. I search the night sky for its stars, counting each one I find between the passing clouds to distract myself and calm my racing, reckless mind down.

With trembling fingers, I pull my phone from my cross-body bag and shove my headphones over my ears so I can drown my thoughts out with music instead.

And I don’t know what in the actual fuck comes over me as I type‘show tunes’into the search bar, but I allow the god-awful Broadway tracks to accompany me all the way home.

E L L I E

“Okay, Connor, you were right. I think that might have been one of the best burgers I’ve ever had.”

“What did I tell you? And you didn’t wanna believe me!”

“Because then I’d have to admit one more thing the Brits do better than us damn Americans,” I joke, feigning shame as I wipe non-existent tears from my eyes.

“Shut up.”

“By the way, I’m still mad at you,” I tell him frankly, crossing my arms against my chest.

“For what?”

I roll my eyes and give him a light-hearted shove that causes him to stumble against the sidewalk we’re trailing down. “Don’t play stupid.”

He just laughs, ignoring my disapproval as we approach the entrance to my flat. “Thank you for tagging along tonight. You made dinner a lot less lonely.”

“Well, thank you for the invitationand for paying for my meal,which,” I assert through gritted teeth, “Iwillbe paying you back for.”

“You absolutely will not. It was my pleasure.”

“Then I’ll just stay mad at you,” I shrug.

“Mhmm,I’m sure.”

“I’ll shove the money in your pocket when you’re not looking, then,” I huff.

He immediately blushes at this, and I instantly regret the possible innuendo it might have had. Connor clears his throat and politely asks, “Can I walk you up?”

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