They were supposed to be wrapping up.
Alex had just saved the final draft of their presentation when Elias stood and muttered, "Water."
She nodded absently. "Kitchen's left, then second left."
He left his laptop open. That was his mistake.
Alex didn't mean to look at the screen. Truly.
But a minimized media player window blinked at her like it wanted to be noticed.
Untitled / not for posting.mp3
The timestamp showed it had been played. Recently. It hovered there like an invitation. Or a dare.
She hesitated. Eyes flicking toward the kitchen.
Then she clicked.
The sound that came out was… not what she expected.
No polished runs. No soft, radio-friendly falsetto.
Just a single voice.
Raw.
Fractured at the edges.
Elias wasn't singing to impress anyone in this file. He was singing to survive something. The first line wasn't even a lyric — just a whisper.
"I don't remember how I died."
Alex froze.
A chord struck. Sharp. Unstable.
Then his voice began to rise — a soft, broken melody, each line more vulnerable than the last. It wasn't perfect. It was painful. Lyrics blurred the line between dream and memory.
> They asked me what I'd wish for / and I said I just want silence…
But silence is worse when you're alive…
And people cheer for ghosts if they sing pretty enough.
The piano underneath creaked slightly with pressure — he must've been pressing hard.
Alex sat still, afraid even blinking might break it.
It wasn't just beautiful.
It was honest.
A kind of honesty that didn't belong to someone her age. Or maybe anyone.
Elias stepped into the room just as the final line echoed:
> I never wanted to be heard — I just wanted to be known.
She looked up.
Too late to click pause.
The track ended.
They locked eyes.
Elias didn't look angry.
He looked... exposed.
Not the icy distance she was used to.
Not the quiet confidence.
He looked like someone who'd been caught dreaming out loud.
Alex swallowed. "I—"
But no words followed.
Elias stared for another moment.
Then, calm as ever, he reached past her and closed the laptop.
"Pretend you didn't hear that."
She didn't nod.
Didn't speak.
Just watched him walk to the door, his face unreadable again.
And when it clicked shut behind him, all that remained was the ghost of that voice — still ringing somewhere deep in her chest.