Lives Rewritten

***CHAPTER 4***

The years after the accident did not pass all at once.

They moved slowly, almost cruelly, one day folding into the next until childhood became something blurred at the edges.

...----------------...

For Matthew, recovery came in fragments.

The bruises faded first.

The stitches were removed.

The bandages came off.

But the emptiness stayed.

There were moments when he would stop in the middle of a room, suddenly overcome by the feeling that he had forgotten something important. It was never a word, never a face—just a sensation. A strange ache in his chest that came without warning.

Sometimes it happened when it rained.

Sometimes when he heard distant laughter.

Sometimes for no reason at all.

His father noticed it too.

“You need something to focus on,” he said one evening, placing a small keyboard on Matthew’s desk.

Matthew looked up. “A keyboard?”

“You used to hum all the time as a kid,” his father replied. “The doctors said music can help with memory and emotional recovery.”

At first, Matthew only touched the keys out of obligation.

A note.

Then another.

Soft, uncertain sounds filled the room.

But something strange happened.

The moment his fingers pressed down, a calmness settled over him.

Like his body remembered what his mind had forgotten.

He started playing every day after that.

Soon, the keyboard became a piano.

The piano became vocal lessons.

And before he knew it, music had stopped being therapy and become the only place where he felt whole.

It was where the emptiness hurt less.

...----------------...

Jason changed differently.

Where Matthew found healing in melody, Jason found it in sound itself.

He had always been restless after the accident.

Too much silence made him uneasy.

So when his mother brought home an old acoustic guitar from a relative, he picked it up without much thought.

The first chord he played was awful.

The second wasn’t much better.

But the third—

Something clicked.

His fingers moved instinctively, like they had done this before.

He frowned, staring at the strings.

“Have I played before?”

His mother shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

Jason didn’t say anything.

Because the truth was—

It didn’t feel new.

It felt remembered.

Years later, that guitar became an electric one, and eventually Jason found himself on small stages, in cramped studios, chasing songs that felt like memories.

...----------------...

Kevin changed in quieter ways.

After the accident, his family became stricter.

Protective.

Almost suffocating.

He was no longer allowed the freedom he once had.

No late evenings.

No unnecessary trips.

No hanging around after class.

His parents watched him carefully, as though afraid that if they looked away, they might lose him again.

The attention should have felt comforting.

Instead, it made him feel trapped.

So Kevin learned to become quieter.

More careful.

He smiled when expected.

Answered when spoken to.

Did what was asked.

But somewhere beneath all of that, a loneliness settled in him.

A loneliness he could never explain.

It always felt like someone was missing.

...----------------...

Allen’s life became colder.

Not cruel.

Just distant.

His family moved shortly after the accident, hoping a new environment would help him recover.

New city.

New school.

New routine.

Allen adapted quickly on the outside.

Good grades.

Calm demeanor.

Perfect control.

But inside, there was always a strange emptiness.

Rain unsettled him.

Certain songs made him pause.

And sometimes, without understanding why, he found himself staring at groups of friends laughing together with something almost like grief.

...----------------...

Years passed.

Childhood became memory.

Memory became shadow.

And then—

Fate moved.

The first meeting happened on an ordinary morning.

Kevin was late.

Again.

His bag was half-open, books barely held together as he hurried through the university hallway.

“Move, move—sorry—!”

He turned the corner too fast.

And collided straight into someone.

Books spilled across the floor.

A sharp breath.

Kevin blinked.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

He looked up.

And froze.

The boy standing in front of him was shorter than him by a little, dark-haired, expression unreadable except for the slight annoyance in his eyes.

But the moment Kevin looked at him—

Something shifted.

A pull.

A strange familiarity.

As if his heart recognized something before his mind could.

“It’s fine,” the other boy said, kneeling to pick up the fallen books.

Kevin crouched down too, their hands brushing briefly over the same notebook.

The contact sent an odd warmth through him.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then the other boy pulled his hand back slightly.

“…Sorry,” Kevin muttered.

“It’s okay.”

Kevin swallowed.

Why did his voice feel familiar?

Why did standing this close make his chest tighten?

The boy handed him the last book.

“You should be more careful.”

Kevin gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah… I should.”

A pause.

Then—

“I’m Allen.”

The name hit him like a sudden gust of wind.

Kevin stared.

Something in his chest lurched.

Not a memory.

A feeling.

Warmth.

Safety.

Loss.

“…Kevin,” he said softly.

Allen nodded.

For a second, his expression softened too.

As if he felt it.

The same unspoken thing hanging in the air.

“Well,” Allen said after a moment, “I guess I’ll see you around.”

...----------------...

Kevin watched him walk away.

And for reasons he didn’t understand—

He already knew this wasn’t the last time.

That evening, Kevin sat by his window, staring out at the rain.

His fingers brushed lightly over the cover of the notebook Allen had accidentally handed him.

Inside the front page, written neatly in black ink, was a name.

**Allen Hayes.**

Kevin stared at it for a long time.

Then whispered quietly to himself—

“…Why does that name feel like home?”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***