Ever since Isabella could remember, the garage in her house had always served some strange purpose. Sometimes it was a storage room full of old boxes, sometimes it became her father’s improvised workshop… but that summer, it gained a new function: rehearsal studio. Isabella’s parents, always kind and willing to support other people’s dreams, allowed a local band to use the space. Four young men, all around nineteen or twenty — a little clumsy, very loud, and hopelessly passionate about the idea of making music together. Alex James, with his bass hanging almost down to his knees; Graham Coxon, who treated the guitar like an extension of his own body; Dave Rowntree, who played the drums as if trying to have a conversation with them; and Damon Albarn, the vocalist, son of Isabella’s parents’ friends, and the most restless of the group. Isabella always found the rehearsals to be a fascinating chaos. She didn’t understand a thing about amps, cables or pedals, but she loved the energy that filled the garage whenever they started playing. The vibration ran through the floor, climbed the walls, and reached her room. Sometimes she even studied with their music in the background, as if it were part of the house’s routine. And when her mother made a snack and asked her to take it to them, Isabella pretended she didn’t enjoy the task as much as she really did. She crossed the backyard carrying the tray, smelling the cake or the warm sandwiches, and before even opening the garage door, she could already hear Damon singing some unfinished lyric, improvising words as if he were fishing emotions out of the air. “The snacks are here!” She announced, pushing the door open. The four of them stopped for a second, sweaty, messy, and smiling. “You’re an angel, Bella.” Alex said dramatically, taking off his bass as if exhausted. Graham mumbled a shy “thanks,” Dave waved without looking up from his drumsticks, and Damon… Damon always looked a second longer. “Stay to listen?” He asked, leaning the mic back onto its stand. And she stayed. She always stayed. She sat on a box of equipment, swinging her legs, watching every chord, every glance exchanged between them, every idea that appeared out of nowhere. It was like she was witnessing a birth — of music, of friendship, of something bigger. One day, while she ate a piece of cake and watched Damon adjust the microphone, he approached her slowly, wearing a crooked smile. “You know…” He began. “You could learn to play something. Piano, guitar, bass… anything. You look like someone who’d be good at it.” “Me?” Isabella laughed, not believing it. “Yeah. You.” He shrugged, looking at her naturally. “We could teach you. I mean… if you want.” She looked at the band tuning their instruments — the charming chaos she adored. Then she looked at Damon, who was watching her like he truly believed what he said. “Maybe I’d like that.” She replied with a small smile. His eyes lit up. And in that moment, in the warmth of the garage, with cables crackling and friends laughing, Isabella realized that maybe that summer would change everything. Not only because she would learn an instrument — but because, without noticing, something stronger was growing every time Damon smiled like that. Something that hummed louder than any amplifier.