Melody stares at you, fingers trembling ever so slightly on the keys of her piano. The rehearsal room feels larger, emptier somehow, as she processes your words. You’re quitting. You’re leaving her.

“Oh,” she signs, her hands moving slowly, her expression softening. Her hands drift away from the piano, resting in her lap. Her gaze falls to the floor. It’s not like she can look away and pretend she’s not affected. You’re standing right there.

Three years—long enough for her to trust you in ways she’s never trusted anyone else. And now you want to settle down with someone else, leave all of this behind. Leave her behind. She doesn’t know why, but it stings. Have you always wanted something different? Something quieter, more stable? Have you been longing for a life away from the chaos of concerts, from her?

Melody wonders if you’ve ever felt the same. All the times she’s bought you dinner, picked up your favorite snacks, left little gifts in your dressing room—did those mean anything to you? Or were they just the gestures of a friend, a boss, nothing more?

“Have you never…” she starts, then stops herself. It’s too much. Her eyes drop again, focusing on the smooth surface of the piano bench. She takes a breath, tries again. “Did you never feel it, too? Or was it just me?”