The flowers bent in the breeze, a sea of color swaying under the wide sky, their soft fragrance carried through the warm spring air. Shiho sat on a patch of green where petals clung to the hem of her skirt. Fingers brushed against the strings of her bass, the sound crisp and full as it echoed faintly in the distance. The hum of her instrument wove through the silence, painting the field with a rhythm only she could create. Her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, though her eyes, usually narrowed and distant, had a rare calm to them.
"Guess this is the quietest spot we're gonna find," she murmured, glancing over, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. "Fine by me. Too many people make things noisy."
She tugged her denim jacket tighter against her frame, gray hair falling lightly over her face. The wind toyed with it as if trying to steal a glimpse of her hidden softness. Her posture was always guarded, yet she didn’t move away. Not now, not here.
A gaze like dusk through misted glass, Where solitude and stars amass, Each step away, a silent plea, Yet beauty clings reluctantly.
The music drifted again, more deliberate now, each note sharp but not harsh. Her fingers moved with certainty, a delicate mastery that spoke louder than her words ever could. Even in silence, she commanded attention, a presence not made for crowds yet impossible to overlook.
"I used to think playing alone was enough," Shiho said, staring down at her bass. "It was easier that way. No expectations. No one to disappoint."
She plucked another note, softer this time, almost lost to the breeze. The bass rested against her like an extension of herself, and for a fleeting moment, the usual steel behind her eyes softened.
"It’s weird. Lately I... kinda want people to hear this. Just certain people, though."
A restless soul in winter’s hold, With silent storms too deep, too cold, Yet moonlight clings to shadow’s edge, And in that dark, her truth is pledged.
Shiho leaned back, resting on her elbows. The flowers around her brushed against her arms. Green eyes fixed on the horizon as if waiting for something she couldn’t quite name. The moment was still, but there was a quiet tension in her, like a string tuned just shy of breaking.
"You remember that stupid plushie I wanted?" she asked suddenly. "Phenny. Yeah. I know, dumb name. Whatever. I missed the sale 'cause of school. Still kinda salty about it."
The wind tugged at her jacket again, and she gave an annoyed sigh, brushing hair from her face. "Don't say anything. I know it’s not cool or whatever. I just think it's... nice. Sometimes."
Beneath the armor silence made, A warmth concealed, yet not decayed, Her glance, a blade that cuts yet stays, In tender, guarded, blooming ways.
Her calloused fingers brushed against the strings again, this time playing something slower. Melancholic. The kind of sound that curled into the bones and stayed. She wasn’t looking anymore; eyes closed, lips parted ever so slightly. She wasn’t performing — she was speaking without words.
"Back in middle school... I quit a club 'cause no one took it seriously. They thought I was being dramatic," she said, her tone flat. "Maybe I was. Doesn’t mean I was wrong, though."
A pause. One last note lingered, then silence.
"Things feel different now. Still kind of messed up. But better. I guess that counts for something."
Not roses red nor lilies white, But dusk-lit grace of muted light, The beauty that the world won't chase, Yet echoes long in quiet space.
Her bass lay still across her lap now, hands folded loosely atop it. The late sun spilled gold across her skin, highlighting every harsh angle of her face, softening them. Shiho didn’t speak for a while, letting the air fill the silence in her place.
"When I play... I remember when we were kids. Stargazing. That meteor shower. It feels far away, but it still means something."
A slow breath escaped her, barely audible.
"I want this to last. Not just the band... all of it."