Because of You, My Heart Beats - chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Sound of Silence

The next day, the air in the Old Music Room was heavy, smelling of decades of dust, stale sheet music, and ancient wood polish. Yui, despite the grim setting, radiated the cheerful energy of a morning sun. She had swept the floor and placed two mismatched chairs in a small, well-lit circle, a single, flickering fluorescent tube overhead heralding their doomed venture. She proudly held up the sheet music for "Starfall," a simple, upbeat rock number requiring nothing more than a solid rhythm track. “Welcome, Akira-kun!” she chirped, her voice bouncing off the unused piano. “We just need the steady beat!”

Akira arrived precisely on time, his composure unnaturally rigid. He didn't acknowledge Yui's greeting, his focus entirely on the dark mahogany case. It contained an acoustic guitar, custom-made, with a deep, gleaming finish that spoke of careful maintenance and inherent quality. He sat, the chair creaking under his tense weight, and began the meticulous, almost obsessive ritual of tuning the instrument. Each turn of the peg was deliberate, a silent, internal countdown to the inevitable failure.

“I only need the rhythm track,” Yui repeated, trying to cut through the mounting tension with lightness. Akira nodded curtly and placed his pick. He took a deep, rattling breath, focusing on the simple, repetitive structure of the ‘Starfall’ chord progression.

He began.

It was catastrophic. His fingers, usually so precise and strong, were like foreign objects, stiff and erratic. The first downstroke was too hard, the second too soft. He sped up, his internal metronome instantly sabotaged by his adrenaline. Within ten seconds, his vision narrowed. He could hear his own blood roaring in his ears, drowning out the guitar. The memory—the bright lights, the sudden total silence when his hands failed him—rushed back, suffocating him. His hand simply froze mid-strum, suspended over the strings, the jarring, broken noise echoing into the deafening, profound silence of the room. Sweat beaded on his temples. He was paralyzed.

“S-sorry,” he managed to rasp out, his voice a humiliation. He couldn't look up. The floor was spinning.

Yui, however, did not flinch, scold, or pity. She didn't offer a hollow platitude about trying again. Instead, she silently slid her phone across the dusty floor. On the screen, a simple, almost childish animation of a heart beat with a gentle, consistent thump-thump.

“Forget the song,” she said, her voice dropping to a comforting, steady alto. “Forget the room. Forget me. Forget the guitar.” She leaned forward, her expression intensely calm. “Just match the sound. It’s okay if it’s messy. It’s just us. Close your eyes, and pretend you’re only playing for you.”

Akira’s focus was entirely on her face for a moment, absorbing her strange, unwavering warmth. He took a single, controlled breath, closed his eyes, and started over. He ignored the strings and the song, focusing entirely on the internal rhythm she had provided. Thump-thump. Down, up. Thump-thump. Down, up.

Slowly, tentatively, the erratic, stiff noise smoothed into a foundational structure. He began to move beyond the simple pattern of 'Starfall,' and the guitar began to sing a new, unwritten melody. It was complex, mournful, and then soaring—a piece of music that felt like a secret whispered in the dark. It was technically flawless. When he opened his eyes, the terror was gone, replaced by a strange, quiet exhaustion. Yui was staring, tears glinting in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from genuine, overwhelming awe. He realized his heart, which had been frantic moments before, was now beating to the measured tempo she had given him. He hadn't just played; he had been released.

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