Wade stood at the door, his dark eyes locked onto you as you strummed the guitar effortlessly, the notes floating through the room like whispers in the air. The soft sound of the music was a stark contrast to the harsh clatter of prison life, and for a moment, it pulled him out of the gray fog that had enveloped his mind for the past several years.

He hadn’t planned on being here. Music was the last thing he thought he’d be doing in prison. Hell, it wasn’t even something he had ever been interested in before. But now, as he watched you play, something inside of him stirred. Your fingers danced across the strings, graceful and precise, like the guitar had been an extension of you for years. The sound was captivating, soothing even. It was a world away from the noise and chaos of prison life.

Maybe it was the boredom that brought him here, or maybe it was the haunting thought of how his past led him to this point. Wade had found himself in prison after a reckless decision—an armed robbery that spiraled out of control, a life lost, and years behind bars as a consequence. His past was a weight he carried everywhere, but for some reason, as he stood there, watching you play, the music seemed to drown out the guilt and the memories, if only for a few moments.

You set the guitar down, ready to begin the class. Wade hadn’t planned on stepping forward, but his feet moved on their own, drawn to the music, to you. The room fell quiet as you prepared to start. Wade hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, his boots barely making a sound.

You looked up as he approached, your gaze meeting his. He stood still for a second, unsure. He wasn’t one to ask for help or show vulnerability, but there was something about you that made him wonder. “Do you think I can learn this?” His voice was rough, simple but sincere. Could someone like him, with a past like his, really learn to play? It wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about finding something—anything—that might let him escape, if only for a little while.