"…I think this could be a beginning." After a brief pause, Ronan added, "I mean, a whole new start."
With that, he'd laid out everything on his mind. He glanced at his bandmates, waiting for their reactions.
Smack!
Oli slammed both hands on the table, jumping to his feet. He thrust his right hand high, even standing on his tiptoes to show his urgency and excitement. "Count me in, count me in!" he shouted, his face glowing with enthusiasm—no further explanation needed.
But before his words even settled, he winced and started rubbing his hands. Apparently, he'd hit the table too hard, and his palms were stinging. One look at the table—shaking like it might fall apart—showed just how much force he'd put into it.
A hot-blooded moment turned comedic in an instant.
Oli was the first to spot Ronan doubled over with laughter. Then he noticed Maxim and Cliff, who weren't laughing at all. That's when it hit him: he was the only one jumping on Ronan's bandwagon. Forgetting the pain, he blurted, "You two aren't reacting? Ronan just gave this passionate, moving speech, and you've got nothing?"
Maxim felt Oli's burning stare land on him. He gave a wry smile. "Oli, we're not eighteen anymore. We've been running down this road for seven years. If we start over now, what does that even mean? Another seven years?"
Ronan's words were fiery, sure, but their scarred souls weren't the kind that could keep charging forward on pure adrenaline like they did at eighteen.
Maxim shot Ronan an apologetic look. "Ronan, I'm not saying your idea's bad—you know how I feel… I just…" His voice faltered, growing quieter. "I just don't know what to do."
Cliff stayed silent the whole time, head bowed, not saying a word.
Oli watched Maxim lower his head, and frustration bubbled up again. He wanted to say something but didn't know how to put it into words. Finally, he turned to Ronan for help. "Ronan!"
Truth was, Ronan got where Maxim and Cliff were coming from.
Just three days ago, they'd rallied themselves, pulling all-nighters to practice "Born This Way." But the faint spark of hope they'd kindled got snuffed out again—and that was less than three hours ago. Asking them to reignite that hope now? It was a tall order.
More than that, Maxim's confidence in songwriting had taken a brutal hit. He was lost, unsure how to adjust or move forward. In this chaotic mess, asking him to "start fresh" was asking too much.
That's why Maxim needed time to process quietly. They all did—to cool off and sort through their thoughts.
Ronan met Oli's eyes and signaled with a look: Calm down. Oli let out a dramatic sigh, staring at the sky, but eventually plopped back down. Still, his body language screamed discontent—he even turned his back on Maxim and Cliff.
Ronan couldn't help but find it funny, though he didn't try to stop him. Instead, he tilted his head back, gazing at the crystal-clear sky above. He raised his right hand, grasping at the air, feeling the warmth settle into his palm. It was a little hot, loosening his stiff muscles and making him relax.
"You know, everyone's chasing light, hoping to touch even a single ray of sunshine. But the night always stretches on so long. No one knows when the end will come, which way to go to reach it—or if we'll ever get there at all."
"So most people give up. They collapse in the dark and tell themselves the dawn's never coming, that light doesn't even exist. They let themselves get tangled in the shadows, ankle-deep, until they're slowly swallowed whole. But is that really how it is?"
"Deep down, we all still crave the sun."
Ronan didn't preach any grand lessons. He just sat there, letting his right hand soak in the sunlight's warmth. It felt like the light was dancing lightly, lifting the corners of his mouth. He loved the color of sunshine—that golden hue with a splash of radiant rainbow. It painted the world in a dazzling glow, even turning the sky's blue into a vibrant, multicolored canvas.
"Everyone's chasing sunlight…"
"Everyone's chasing sunlight…"
"Chasing… sunlight…"
He murmured it over and over, soft as a whisper. Then, like a beam breaking through the dark, a spark of inspiration lit up his mind. Notes of a melody poured out endlessly, a warm rush flooding every cell in his body, making them scream and leap with joy.
"Crowds bustle all around, tears become windows to the soul…"
And just like that, Ronan started humming softly. No instruments, just his voice—thin but clear and bright, carrying a faint warmth. Not the blazing afternoon sun of July, but the first dawn light of a harsh winter morning—
You could still feel the lingering chill of the darkest hour, not yet faded, but the sun's warmth was already spreading through the air. It made you want to step toward it, closer, then closer still, until before you knew it, you were basking in it fully.
Right now, it was the same.
Ronan's quiet humming didn't make waves, but ears perked up and leaned in. There was a faint echo of something stirring in their hearts.
"Like a silent symphony never sung, a wild and wondrous hidden realm, a timeless masterpiece forever unexplored."
Simple words crashed together, sparking something brilliant. Like a poem, it wove a tender tale of the fragility and sensitivity deep within—
Every soul has its own story, a secret place no one else has ventured into. Its wildness and beauty are known only to itself, like a silent symphony. But now, reflected in shimmering tears, it quietly speaks of the depth and vastness within that hidden world.
It was breathtaking.
The bandmates listening nearby were focused, their attention slowly sharpening. They hadn't yet felt the full sweep of awe, but something was stirring—hot blood racing beneath their skin, an urge to get closer they couldn't ignore.
Alice, though, capturing it all through her camera, felt it clearly. Without thinking, she zoomed in on Ronan again.