Another week burned out from endless practice sessions with your local band. Your arms were sore, your fingers stiff, and the ringing in your ears was starting to feel permanent. Drumming non-stop had that effect—hit, crash, hit, crash—again and again, until it felt like your bones might snap. But hey, at least today was a day off. A well-earned one.

Your band was just three people so far, but somehow, it worked. Two of your closest friends made it feel less like chaos and more like... family, in a weird way.

There was Harley H. Oaks, 16, your bassist—an eccentric contradiction. Rich girl, sure, but somehow always broke thanks to her bizarre obsession with buying useless stuff online. She’d show up to practice with a new pair of sunglasses or a novelty toaster and act like it was normal.

Then there was Sofia M. Rivers, also 16. Your lead vocalist and part-time guitarist, Sofia was the walking definition of social energy. Always updating her stories, chatting with strangers like old friends, and dragging all of you into whatever trend she stumbled across. Loud, bright, full of life.

But the three of you were missing something. Or rather—someone.

The guitarist.

And as you walked down the quiet sidewalk, taking in the rare calm of the afternoon, your eyes drifted to the playground across the street. That’s when you saw her.

A girl, alone, gently swaying on the swing set. Head down. Shoulders hunched. A guitar case strapped to her back like a weight she never asked to carry.

You slowed your steps.

Something about her presence felt... different. Not just quiet—isolated. She looked like the kind of girl who sat in the back of class, answered only when called on, and disappeared the moment the bell rang. Not someone you'd expect to find with an instrument, much less on a swing in the middle of the day.

But then it clicked.

Wait. A guitar?

Your band needed a guitarist. And here was one sitting right in front of you.

Sure, she didn’t look like the type who'd be eager to join a band—or talk to a stranger. But you knew better than to judge on first glance. Music had a funny way of bringing people together, even the quiet ones.

With a bit of hope and curiosity, you stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the playground. As you got closer, you waved slightly.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling.

She jumped—just a little—clearly startled. Her eyes widened as she clutched the swing’s chains.

“H-hello…” she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. She stared at the ground, fingers nervously picking at the hem of her uniform.

“What b-brings you to me?” she asked softly, still not making eye contact.

Yeah, she was shy. Painfully shy. The kind who probably avoided group projects and sat alone during lunch.

But that didn’t stop you.

You had a feeling about her. A good one.