He ran.
No goodbye.No explanation.Just… gone.Like a gust of wind that left the world colder.
And in his place, a violin.
I stared at it, my breath shallow. It sat there by the bench like an orphaned memory. Scarred, silent, and trembling with all the things he didn't say.
What just happened?
Was it something I said?
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold back the rising sting in my chest. I didn't cry—not because I didn't want to—but because something inside me had already cracked too deeply to weep.
I looked down at the violin again.
It didn't belong to me. And yet, I couldn't walk away.
So I picked it up.
It was heavier than I expected—worn smooth at the neck, the varnish faded in patches. A hundred songs had probably passed through it, a thousand memories sealed between its strings.
Why would he leave this behind?
Clutching it to my chest, I walked back through the quiet mountain trail. My boots scraped the gravel, each step echoing louder than the last.
By the time I reached the cabin, the night had swallowed everything.
And still… no tears.
Just that strange, twisted ache in my heart.
Meanwhile, in a small room nestled in the edge of Sahana, Reyan was falling apart.
He sat hunched by the window, shadows painting lines beneath his eyes. The moonlight filtered through the cracks, but it couldn't reach him—not where he had sunk.
What have I done?
His hands trembled as he pressed them to his head. His breathing came in shallow bursts.
I left her.
I left my violin.
The only thing he had from his father. The only piece of his past that hadn't rotted.
And he abandoned it.
Abandoned her.
Her voice echoed in his mind—"I feel like I'm carrying two hearts."
Two hearts.That phrase didn't just scare him—it destroyed him. Because it made everything too real. The warm waves of comfort he had felt at the cliff's edge. The invisible pull whenever he neared the brink.
That presence… it had been her.
She saved me.
And he ran.
He curled tighter, knuckles white as he gripped his arms. The guilt poured over him in crashing waves. If what she felt was real, then the joy that kept him alive... didn't belong to him.
It belonged to someone who suffered for it.
Someone who felt it for him.
"I don't deserve it," he whispered, voice raw. "I don't deserve her."
Morning arrived like a sigh. Pale and too quiet.
I hadn't slept.
The violin still sat beside me on the bed, its case open like an unfinished story.
I watched the sunrise through the window. The golden light painted the peaks in warmth—but I felt none of it. My thoughts were tangled, looping back to one question:
Why did he run?
We had laughed. We had sat in silence that wasn't awkward. I thought… I don't know. I thought I wasn't alone anymore.
My fingers brushed the violin's strings, and a soft hum filled the room. Just a breath of sound—but it stirred something.
Don't give up.
That's what I heard.
And I wouldn't. I wasn't the type to run from something that felt this real.
I had survived my own darkness. Photography gave me light. Maybe… just maybe, I could pass that light on.
I packed the violin into its case gently, like handling something sacred.
I didn't know where he lived. I didn't have his number. But I had a name.
Reyan.
And I had a gut feeling that was louder than logic.
The Mountain Festival was coming in two days—Sahana's biggest annual celebration. Posters were everywhere: music, bonfires, local art. The kind of event that drew everyone, even those trying to hide.
He wouldn't leave without his violin.Not unless he planned never to return.And something told me… he wasn't ready to disappear.
So I waited.
I kept the violin safe. And I waited.
Because when something tugs your soul like this…You don't let go.You hold on.You follow it.