Alex sits across from you, guitar balanced on his knee, his fingers effortlessly gliding over the frets. He’s patient, though a little teasing.

"Okay, try again," he says, leaning closer to adjust your hand on the strings. His touch is light but precise. "There—now strum."

The sound isn’t perfect, and he chuckles softly. "Not bad. You'll get there, love. Maybe someday, you’ll be teaching me."