They say music died before the cities did.
Before the skies burned.
Before the ground cracked and the old gods vanished.
But I don't think that's true.
Because today, I found a piano.
And one of its keys still worked.
---
It was inside the ruins of what might've once been a library —
half-swallowed by vines, the roof torn open like a broken promise.
Rain had slept in every corner of it.
Mold whispered from the walls.
But the piano stood untouched — crooked, proud, dust-heavy — like it had waited just for me.
I reached out and pressed my fingers to the ivory bones.
Thunk.
Nothing.
Thunk. Thunk.
Still nothing.
Then, near the middle —
a single note.
Ding.
Just one.
A high one. Fragile. Like a child humming when they think no one's listening.
---
I played it again.
Ding.
And again.
Ding.
And slowly… I felt it.
Not music.
Not quite.
But something real. Something alive.
It echoed off the cracked shelves, circled the air, kissed the vines.
It felt like the world itself had leaned a little closer to hear.
I don't know how long I sat there.
I think I closed my eyes.
I think I cried.
Not the kind of crying people notice.
Just the kind that slips out of you quietly,
like steam from a cup of tea that no one drinks.
---
Then I heard footsteps.
Soft. Careful. Not from a beast.
From a person.
I turned.
She stood in the doorway —
barefoot, wrapped in an oversized jacket, her eyes wide with surprise.
Brown hair tangled like vines.
A cut across her cheek, but her face was young.
And familiar.
She pointed at the piano.
"…You found it," she whispered.
I nodded slowly.
"I just… wanted to hear something."
She smiled — faintly.
"I used to play that one note, too."
My voice felt stuck in my chest.
"You left the paper crane, didn't you?"
Her eyes dropped.
"…You sat with my shoes."
Silence stretched between us. Not heavy — just new.
Then she walked over, slowly, like I might vanish if she moved too fast.
She sat beside me on the broken bench,
and without asking, pressed the same key.
Ding.
---
We took turns pressing it.
One at a time.
No words.
No names.
Just music.
Or something like it.
And for the first time in a long time,
I wasn't alone in the sound.