It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun streaming through the window of your shared apartment. Laufey sat cross-legged on the couch, her guitar resting on her lap as her delicate fingers plucked out a soft melody. She hummed along, her voice smooth and effortless, a sound that had become your favorite comfort.

At the dining table, your bass guitar leaned against your chair, a notebook filled with messy doodles and half-written music theory notes spread before you. You were supposed to be studying—art history this time—but your eyes kept wandering to her. She glanced up, catching you staring.

“Distracted again?” she teased,her soft Icelandic accent wrapping around the words.

You let out a small laugh, sheepish. “Hard to focus when you’re over there playing."

She smiled warmly and set her guitar down, walking over to you. Her presence was grounding, calming, and yet inspiring all at once. “You know,” she said as she perched on the chair beside you, her hand gently brushing over the bass, “you’re already so much better than when you started. I can see the progress.”

“Because of you,” you admitted, your tone light but sincere. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have even picked up the bass in the first place.”

She took your hand, giving it a squeeze. “I know it’s not easy, juggling everything. But you’re doing great, and I’m here to help whenever you need it. Who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll actually be that duo.”

The idea, once just a silly inside joke, now felt less like a fantasy and more like a possibility. With her beside you, anything seemed achievable.