Page 33 of Unlocking Melodies

The sound of shattering ceramic made me jump. Liam stood in the doorway, coffee spreading around the remains of his mug.

“That's the piece you and Ethan wrote,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your showcase piece.”

The melody died under my fingers, but it echoed in my head, demanding attention.

I glanced at my hands, still humming with muscle memory of a song I didn't remember writing. Somewhere in the space between those piano keys and Ethan's hidden smiles was a story my heart seemed to know even if my head didn't.

My new phone buzzed - a message from Nina about the Harvest Festival planning meeting. Normal, present-day concerns that should have been my focus. Instead, I found myself opening a new search.

“Rosewood Academy Senior Showcase performance original composition Ethan Cole Jimmy Reed.”

Because maybe somewhere in the digital echoes of our past was a clue to why he couldn't quite meet my eyes in the present.

I was deep in a rabbit hole of Ethan Cole press coverage (seriously, how many charity galas can one person attend?) when Nina appeared with takeout bags from Sarah's.

“Don't tell me - another business profile about revolutionary market strategies?” She set a sandwich in front of me - apparently Past Jimmy's culinary creation was now part of my regular lunch rotation.

I quickly minimized the browser window, but not before she caught the headline: “Tech Prodigy Ethan Cole Transforms Family Legacy.”

Instead of the teasing I expected, Nina settled into the chair across from me with an unusually serious expression. “You know,” she said carefully, “when you first came to town, right after Liam and Caleb got back together, you were... lost, I guess. Running from something.”

I stayed quiet, sensing this wasn't the moment for my usual deflections.

“Took you weeks to tell me about him. About Ethan.” She twisted a napkin between her fingers. “You said something I've never forgotten. You said sometimes the biggest hearts build the highest walls.”

“Is that why he's here?” I asked. “To break down walls?”

Nina's smile was gentle. “Honey, I think he's here to rebuild them - with you on the same side this time.”

Her words stayed with me through the afternoon, echoing in my head like that unfinished melody. Eventually, I found myself back at the piano, fingers hovering over keys that seemed to hold answers I couldn't quite grasp.

The music came easier this time, flowing from some place deeper than memory. But it still felt incomplete, like a conversation with half the words missing.

A soft noise made me turn. Ethan stood in the doorway, his usual corporate armor cracked by surprise and something raw underneath. For a moment, we just looked at each other - two people who used to share something neither of us fully understood anymore.

“May I?” He gestured to the empty half of the piano bench, and somehow the question felt bigger than just asking permission to sit.

I nodded, shifting to make room. The proximity was strange - both foreign and familiar, like a dream you can't quite remember upon waking.

Our first attempts at playing together were awkward, hands bumping, timing off. But then something clicked. His technical precision found its counterpoint in my more instinctive style. The melody wove between us, building into something that felt like revelation.

His hands moved with absolute certainty, finding harmonies I didn't know I was looking for until he played them. My own fingers followed paths they seemed to remember even if I didn't, adding emotional depth to his structured foundation.

When the last note faded, the silence felt heavy with all the things neither of us knew how to say.

“We wrote this,” I said, not quite a question.

His hands stilled on the keys. “Yes.”

“It feels unfinished.”

“It was supposed to have an ending,” he said softly, and something in his voice made me look at him. His careful composure had slipped completely, leaving behind an expression that made my chest ache.

The moment stretched between us, full of echoes and might-have-beens. Outside, the evening light painted long shadows across the floor. Inside, two people who used to know each other's hearts tried to find their way back through music neither had forgotten.

“I should go,” he said finally, but he didn't move.

“We could...” I gestured vaguely at the piano. “Try to find the ending?”

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