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Chapter 7: No Faces, Just Feelings.
The music room was empty again.
At least, that's what Ava told herself.
The keys on the old grand piano sat still, untouched. But she could feel the residue of last night's melody in the air—like a scent that clung to memory.
She leaned against the doorway, staring at Eli.
He sat there in the corner, fingers gently grazing the curve of the piano's edge as if it were a living thing. He wasn't playing. Just feeling. His head tilted, expression unreadable, like he was listening for something that hadn't spoken yet.
Ava cleared her throat. "You always play in the dark?"
His lips curved slightly. "I always live in it."
She stepped inside. The room seemed smaller now. More intimate. More dangerous.
"I thought maybe…" She hesitated. "You'd tell me your story."
Eli turned his face toward her, eyes clouded and unblinking. "What would that change?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."
Silence wrapped around them, thick and tight. Then he reached out, fingers hovering in the air.
"Come here."
Ava's heart thudded.
She moved.
Eli didn't touch her. Not yet. But his hand remained raised, suspended like a question waiting to be answered.
"Describe yourself to me," he said quietly. "Not what you look like. Tell me what feeling you are."
She blinked. "What?"
"I don't see faces," he murmured. "I see sounds. Movements. Temperatures. So tell me—what feeling are you?"
Ava swallowed hard. No one had ever asked her something like that.
She closed her eyes.
"I think I'm… the cold you feel right before the rain. When the sky turns silver and your chest gets tight."
Eli's hand lowered slowly. He smiled—but it was sad, like he knew exactly what kind of ache she meant.
"That's beautiful," he said. "And lonely."
"So are you," she replied.
Their words floated in the air like music, soft and sharp at the same time.
"I don't want to talk about the past," Ava said finally. "Not yet."
"Then don't," Eli replied. "Talk to me through colors. Through sound. Through silence."
Ava stepped closer. Close enough to feel his breath. Close enough to wonder what scars lay behind his quiet.
"I don't want to be seen," she whispered. "Not until I'm ready."
"Then I'll feel you instead," he said.
And in that moment, Ava knew: whatever was building between them—it had no name.
Just music. Just feeling.
And for now, that was enough.
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