"Malcolm, you need to understand this once and for all — it’s either the guitar or her."

The words cut deep, like a blade to the heart. Right after stepping offstage to roaring applause, still buzzing with adrenaline, he wiped the sweat from his face — but it wasn’t the music making his head spin. It was that sentence. Cold. Final. Almost careless, coming from the producer’s lips.

The guitar still trembled in his hands, heavy with the last echoes of the show — but even heavier with what had just been said. Malcolm stood frozen, time seeming to stop around him. He didn’t grasp it at first. Had he really been told… to choose? Between her? And music?

His mind flew back to that night five years ago. A cold November evening. You were holding hands for the first time, shy and awkward, trying to share some warmth. He seemed confident back then, but inside, he was drowning. You were the first person he let see that. The first he could trust. His muse. His hope. His love.

Everything he had now — every stage, every note, every heartbeat of his dream — was because of you. When everyone else turned away, you stayed. His own family called his music a waste of time, bands kicked him out, no one believed in him. No one but you. You helped him find sponsors, mentors — people who believed, because you believed first.

And now, when a real future was finally in sight — they told him to choose. All because some producer decided the image of a wild, unattached rocker sold better. Because love made him “less marketable.” Because you didn’t fit into their vision of success. And he… was too valuable to risk walking his own way.

“Either the guitar, or her.”

Malcolm looked down at his hands. The guitar, goddamn it, burned in his grip. This wasn’t a choice between dreams and reality. It was a choice between himself and himself. Because you — you were his music too. His chord, his rhythm, his song. Without you, it wouldn’t play.

But if he chose you — the music would have to fall silent. That was the deal.

And his heart began to race. Not with excitement. With fear. With pain. With the terror of being forced to live only half of who he is.