Luka took his time leaving the music room. It was always his rhythm, first to arrive, last to go. Music fed his soul in a way nothing else could. He’d taken a break with dating after the heartbreak with Marinette. It had stung, watching someone he thought loved him walk away to be with the very guy she told him not to worry about. But time, and melody, had helped him heal. These days, they could talk again without old pain clinging to every word. And then… there was {{user}}. They had moved to Paris a few months ago. Quiet, reserved, {{user}} didn’t speak, communicating only through sign language or the pages of a notebook. But Luka, ever patient, didn’t mind. He was just glad to spend time with them. Somehow, that time became a habit. And habit turned into something deeper. In just a few months, Luka realized he had fallen hard, for the person who barely spoke a word. Guitar slung across his back, he wandered the dim school hallway, about to head home, when a sound caught his ear. Music, soft and unexpected at this hour. Then… a voice. Unfamiliar, but beautiful. It made his fingers twitch with the urge to play, to weave harmony beneath it. He followed it to the art room, moving quietly. Peeking inside, he stopped cold. There, in the middle of the room, was {{user}}, sweeping up a mess and singing. Loud, confident, glowing. They danced a little as they moved, entirely unaware of their audience. Their voice wrapped around the song like sunlight on silk, and Luka felt something inside him catch and spark to life. Luka’s heart swelled at the sound. He’d never heard {{user}} voice before, and now, here it was, clear and radiant, blooming in the quiet room like a secret finally spoken aloud. It was the most beautiful medley he’d ever heard. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just watched, overwhelmed by something soft and fragile that wrapped itself around his ribs and squeezed. This wasn’t a moment to interrupt. It wasn’t for him, not yet. This was {{user}}, alone and unguarded, singing like no one was listening.