Chapter 2 Lost Melody
The hum was faint—so faint that others barely noticed. But to him, it was a spark that set his soul on fire. It came from a classmate, casually humming as they walked past the hallway. The tune wasn't complete, just the skeleton of a melody floating in the air like dust in sunlight, but it was enough.
His breath hitched.
It was familiar.
So achingly familiar it was like a name whispered in the dark.
And then, as if lightning struck, the full memory surged.
**"Love Yours" by J. Cole.**
His mind played it clearly now. The weight in Cole's voice. The grounded truth in his lyrics. The reminder that even the flawed life you have is still your own, worth loving, worth protecting.
Before he could even bask in that memory, another surged.
**Kendrick Lamar's "Alright."**
He could remember the adrenaline it brought him during dark times. The way its rhythm and chanting chorus fought the silence in his lonely apartment. The rap, the rage, the hope. The feeling that somehow, someday, things really would be alright.
Then, his memory softened like dusk falling.
**Usher's "Nice & Slow."** That smooth, romantic groove playing in the background when he had his first real kiss.
Then **Ne-Yo's "So Sick,"** the anthem he blasted through his headphones on repeat after a brutal heartbreak.
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
**Adele.** Her voice cut through years like a blade. Songs like "Someone Like You" or "Hello" weren't just hits—they were scars.
**Taylor Swift.** Her discography was a diary, and he'd found his own entries in her heartbreaks, her hope, her storytelling.
All of them. All of these artists had been his lifeline.
His compass.
His therapy.
In a world where he was no longer dead, they had brought him back to life.
And then—
A new memory.
No. An old one. An older one. One rooted deeper than any of the others.
**"You'll Be Safe Here" by Rivermaya.**
That song had a soul.
It wasn't as globally known, but to him, it was everything. It had been a sanctuary in sound. The intro, with its gentle guitars, had always crept into his bones like early morning fog. The voice that sang those words—raw and emotional—felt like an angel whispering through war-torn ruins.
*No one ever really tried to find you...*
Every time that line played, it shattered him, then pieced him back together. The melody swelled like hope growing in darkness, and the chorus—
*You'll be safe here...*
—was a promise the world never gave him, but the song always did.
He remembered playing it **on loop** a million times. Sometimes while studying. Sometimes while crying. Sometimes while doing nothing, just staring at the ceiling and letting the music mend the cracks in his soul.
Because of that song, he picked up a guitar.
He wanted to sing like that.
To move someone the way that song had moved him.
But learning the guitar wasn't easy.
His fingers bled. He didn't understand chords at first. G major and E minor might as well have been ancient runes. He fumbled, cursed, and nearly gave up a hundred times. Each strum was a scratch on his patience. His cheap guitar went out of tune every other day, and he didn't know how to fix it.
But he kept playing.
Again. And again. And again.
His determination was foolish, stubborn. Yet one day, a miracle:
He played the first verse of "You'll Be Safe Here" **cleanly**.
No missed notes.
No buzzing frets.
Just music.
He remembered his hands trembling in disbelief as the sound resonated from his strings. That day, he played for hours. The sun set, the night deepened, but he didn't stop. It felt like flying.
Now, years and a whole **other lifetime later**, that memory returned.
The nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. His chest ached. His throat closed. But it wasn't pain—it was beauty. It was warmth. It was proof that once, he had felt passion that deep.
He wiped the corner of his eye before anyone could see.
Quickly, he grabbed the **CocoaFizz** bottle beside his lunch and took a long sip. The carbonated chocolate drink tickled his throat. Then he bit into a slice of **chocolate cake**, dense and sugary, trying to anchor himself back to the present.
He reached for his bag, pulled out his old-looking notebook, and flipped to a blank page.
Then he began to write.
**The lyrics.**
**"You'll Be Safe Here"** wasn't just a song—it was **his hymn**. He remembered every line. Every pause. Every rise and fall of melody. It was tattooed in his soul.
The pen danced on the page.
He didn't need to think.
Didn't even need to hesitate.
Within minutes, it was all there.
Complete.
And he felt it—a wave of satisfaction. Of something that felt like a piece of his past self reconnecting with the now. A bridge between worlds.
He stared at the words, heart full, hands still.
The bell rang.
Break time was over.
He slid the notebook back into his bag with reverence and stood. His footsteps carried him through the corridor, and then into his classroom.
It was an average room: white walls, pale green curtains, rows of wooden desks etched with initials and scribbles. The fan creaked overhead as if sighing at the heat. Sunlight filtered through dusty windows.
The science teacher stood at the front, drawing diagrams of **cells**—mitochondria, nucleus, membranes. Talking about how life functions at the tiniest level.
But his mind was elsewhere.
Far away.
It wasn't that he didn't care about biology. It's just that something else had taken root. A dream, a temptation.
He tapped his pen against his notebook, staring at the lyrics he had written.
What would happen if he released **that song** here?
In this world where no one had ever heard of Rivermaya?
Would people love it?
Would they cry?
Would they feel the way he had felt—the ache, the comfort, the safety?
He imagined standing on a dim-lit stage, guitar in hand. His fingers curled around the frets as the spotlight bathed him in gold. A crowd waited, silent, as he played the first chord. Then his voice, shaky at first, but then soaring.
He imagined girls with tears in their eyes. Boys holding hands tighter. Teachers clapping. An auditorium vibrating with emotion.
And what if that was just the beginning?
What if he remembered more songs?
More masterpieces from his old world?
*Fix You. Let It Be. Someone Like You. Love Yours. So Sick. Everything Has Changed.*
He could bring back an entire era of music.
He could be the vessel.
The revival.
The messenger of lost melodies.
He could change this world with his guitar.
One song at a time.