The Story You Don't Know

The piano, it sings the songs my heart can't say. Shadows cast long forms across the airy living room as my hands flew over the keys, shaping the melody I drew from the depths of my soul like a ribbon unfurling. Late into the night, when the rest of the world was asleep, this was the time of the day I loved most. I felt a wetness on my cheek, took a deep breath, and tried to quell the storm of emotions that music brought out from within me.

The corner of my eye caught a movement, and I startled, spinning around to find myself face to face with him. I blinked, first in surprise, then blinked again to hide my teary eyes.

"Were you watching?" I asked, self-consciously tucking my hair behind my ears.

"Beautiful." He nodded in acknowledgement.

Me or the music? I felt my face heating up involuntarily. No stop thinking that way, stupid, I thought to myself. Of course he meant the song. "I'm not even half-good at this." I sighed, intentionally oblivious to any possible other meaning to his reply.

He made a vague gesture with his hands. "Continue, human."

"Rude. I have a name," I protested indignantly, pouting. "I don't even know yours. I won't play until you tell me yours."

Suddenly, I felt his arms cage me between him and the piano seat, his face unbearably close to mine. It was too dark to make out his facial features, but the feel of his breath fanning my face was enough to send my heart into a frenzy. "Avery." His voice was low, tantalising. I shifted nervously.

"You can call me Kalen," he murmured. And then, with a gust of wind, he was gone, disintegrating into the shadows. I was alone again in the big dark living room.

"Kalen," I repeated softly, testing out the feel of the word on my tongue.

Kalen, I'll always remember this name.

-

23 March 2016, Wednesday

We didn't used to always be like this, my friends and I. We had good times too. Once, years ago, we went to Amelia's house to hang out for the weekend. I remember being so excited because it was the one time my parents had let me go out with my friends after hours of begging and pestering. I remember having a lot of fun playing Mario Olympics on her Wii, singing together as Amelia and Brooke strummed their guitars - just teen girls doing teen things.

I don't even remember the turning point when things took a turn for the worst, when our friendship went toxic. I'd still do anything for them; I'd run back into a burning building, jump in front of a speeding truck to save them if I ever had to. I wonder if they'll ever do the same for me?

"It feels like you're the only one drowning in the air that everyone breathes, and no one sees a thing," I told them once. "Like all the light's gone out of my life." They'd be lying if they didn't know that I was depressed. But do they know they're part of it too? It's so painfully obvious, but I think they choose not to know.

It's not new. That's just the world nowadays, isn't it? We choose not to see the things we'd rather not see, choose not to hear the things we'd rather not hear. Sometimes I tell myself I don't tell them they're also a big reason for my depression because I don't want to hurt them, but I remember that that's what they do to me everyday, regardless. They just choose not to see what they're doing to me.

-

The music she painted was an irresistable shining light that lured him like Daedalus to the sun. Mesmerized by the ethereal melancholic sounds floating from her hands, he couldn't help but stare. Humans had always been irrelevant to him, their short unmeaningful lives flashing by too fast, none who'd captured his interest. But that night, something felt different. Maybe it was the way she made it look so effortless, butterfly hands flitting over the keys, or the way her hair fell over her shoulders, pale skin at the nape of her neck exposed. In the dark, she shone with a brilliance he had never noticed before. He took a half step closer, entranced.

She started at the movement, and suddenly he was face to face with her. Her eyes, wide with surprise, were shining, wet, and brimming with something he couldn't quite place. In that moment, she was beautiful.

This memory was one he would keep replaying in his mind, as if on a repeat reel, many years later. Even when he'd forgotten the song she'd played, he would never forget the emotions it stirred within him. And even when he couldn't remember the features of her face, he would always remember how she shined through the darkness of his world, how her eyes shined as they looked into the depths of his.