Ghost Notes-Chapter 10: Tuning the Heart

Chapter 10: Tuning the Heart

Kael sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the city's late-afternoon glow filtering through the blinds, casting slanted shadows across his guitar. The instrument lay in his lap, its strings dull from days of relentless practice. His notebook was open beside him, pages crowded with crossed-out lyrics and chord progressions for Shatterpoint. The SoundSphere showcase was two weeks away, and the pressure was a low hum in his chest, like a bassline he couldn't shake. Veyl's name, tied to the event, loomed larger each day—a beacon and a judge.

He plucked a string, the note flat and sour. He grimaced, twisting the tuning peg until it sang true. The act was meditative, a ritual to quiet his racing thoughts. Lex had texted earlier, urging him to stick with the polished version of Shatterpoint for the showcase. "Scouts want professional, Kael. Don't get artsy on me now," the message read. But Kael's gut rebelled. The raw demo, the one that was all heart and rough edges, felt like the truth. Choosing between them was like choosing who he wanted to be.

A knock at the door broke his focus. His mom's voice, soft but insistent: "Kael? You in there?"

"Yeah," he called, setting the guitar aside. He stood, brushing dust off his jeans, and opened the door. His mom stood in the hallway, still in her scrubs, her hair pulled back in a tired ponytail. Her eyes, though, were bright, holding a warmth that caught him off guard.

"I got you something," she said, holding out a small paper bag. "For your show."

Kael took it, curious, and pulled out a black leather guitar strap, simple but sturdy, with a faint embossed pattern of stars. It was practical, beautiful in its understated way. He ran his thumb over the leather, his throat tightening. "Mom, this is... thanks."

She smiled, but there was a shadow in her expression. "I found it at the thrift shop. Reminded me of your dad's old one. He used to wear it out playing gigs before..." She trailed off, her gaze distant. "Anyway, I thought you'd like it."

Kael nodded, the weight of her words settling. His dad's music, a secret he was still processing, felt like a thread connecting them across years. "I'll use it," he said, meeting her eyes. "At the showcase."

Her smile widened, but she hesitated, then added, "Just... don't let it swallow you, okay? Music's beautiful, but it's hard. I saw what it did to him." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, and Kael saw the worry she'd been carrying—not just for him, but for a past she rarely spoke of.

"I won't," he said, though the promise felt heavier than he meant. She nodded, squeezing his shoulder before heading to the kitchen, leaving him with the strap and her words.

Kael sat back down, the strap across his lap. He thought of his mom's warning, Mira's confession about quitting art, Lex's push for polish. Everyone seemed to see music as a double-edged blade—freedom and danger in equal measure. He wanted to prove it could be different, that he could hold onto the truth of his sound without losing himself.

His phone buzzed, a message from Mira: "Meet me at the park. Need to clear my head." Kael frowned, sensing an edge in her words. He grabbed his jacket and the guitar—strapped with the new leather—and headed out.

The park was a short walk, its paths lined with bare trees, their branches stark against the gray sky. The air smelled of damp earth and fading leaves, and a street musician's accordion drifted from a nearby bench. Mira was by the fountain, her sketchpad open but untouched, her knees pulled to her chest. She looked smaller than usual, her usual spark dimmed.

"Hey," Kael said, sitting beside her. He set the guitar case down, the new strap glinting faintly. "You okay?"

Mira shrugged, her eyes fixed on the fountain's rippling water. "Just... stuck. Saw your showcase post on SoundSphere. Everyone's hyping you up, and it's awesome, but..." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's dumb, but it makes me feel like I'm falling behind. Like I blew my shot."

Kael's chest ached. He'd seen her sketches, heard the way she hummed absentmindedly—she had talent, but it was buried under years of doubt. "You didn't blow anything," he said. "You could still do it. Draw, sing, whatever. You're not stuck."

She laughed, sharp and bitter. "Easy for you to say. You're doing it, Kael. I'm just... watching." Her voice cracked, and she looked away, her fingers digging into her sleeves.

Kael hesitated, then opened his guitar case. "Play something with me," he said, the idea sudden but right. "Right here. No pressure, just us."

Mira's eyes widened. "What? No way. I haven't sung in years."

"So? I hadn't played in years either." He strummed a soft chord, the sound warm in the crisp air. "Come on. One verse. You know Shatterpoint." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

She stared at him, then at the guitar, her resolve wavering. Finally, she nodded, scooting closer. Kael played the intro, slow and deliberate, the notes like ripples in the fountain. Mira's voice started shaky, barely audible, but as the melody built, she found her footing. Her tone was raw, untrained but full of feeling, blending with Kael's in a way that sent chills down his spine. When they hit the chorus, her voice soared, carrying a pain and hope that mirrored his own.

They finished, the final chord fading into the park's quiet. A few passersby clapped, startling them both. Mira flushed, but she was smiling, her eyes brighter than they'd been in weeks. "Okay," she said, breathless. "That wasn't awful."

"Told you," Kael said, grinning. "You should sing at the showcase. With me, or solo. Whatever you want."

Her smile faltered, but she didn't say no. "I'll... think about it," she said, echoing her words from the coffee shop. This time, though, Kael heard possibility.

Back home, Kael sat at his desk, the guitar strap draped over his chair. He opened SoundSphere, scrolling through the showcase hype. A new comment on Shatterpoint caught his eye: "Can't wait to hear this live. Veyl's curating, so you better bring it." His heart skipped. Veyl wasn't just a name now—they were a presence, a challenge. Kael closed the app and picked up his guitar, strumming the raw version of Shatterpoint. It wasn't perfect, but it was honest, and that was what he'd bring to the stage.

He thought of Mira's voice, his mom's gift, the city's endless rhythm. Music wasn't just sound—it was a way to speak when words failed, to connect across silences. The showcase was his chance to prove it, not just to Veyl or the scouts, but to himself. He wasn't chasing polish or applause. He was chasing truth, and for the first time, he felt like he might catch it.

To be continued...

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