Act I : The Music Room Refugees!!
The faint patter of rain against the window, distant thunder rumbling low, and the soft creak of wooden floorboards under slow movement.
The music room was no longer alive. It breathed in dust and silence.
Rain tapped gently against the tall windows, whispering in rhythms only the lonely could understand. Faint lines of sunlight leaked through the blinds, cutting slanted shadows across the wooden floor. The once vibrant room, filled with noise and laughter, now felt like a ghost of itself.
A man sat in the corner, cradling a guitar, strumming with fingers that moved more from memory than intention. The chords he played were fragmented, like thoughts half-formed. Music used to matter. But now it was just something to pass time. Something to remind him he still could.
"Even when the rain pours from darkness…" he murmured, voice soft and rough. "The sky is still beautiful. How does that work?"
The question echoed in his mind, swallowed quickly by the hush.
Then—the door creaked.
He looked up, startled.
A girl stood framed by the faint hallway light, as if carved out of shadow and afternoon drizzle. She was beautiful, but not in the loud, polished way. Her shoulder-length hair clung softly to her damp skin, and her big eyes—once made to shine—now dimmed like a screen on low power. There was something fragile in her posture, like a machine halfway through shutdown. Her shoulders slumped, her presence heavy with invisible weight.
She was like a dying star—once brilliant, now flickering in slow collapse—its light dulled by the rainy afternoon.
Her eyes moved across the room, searching, not for a person, but for something she'd forgotten how to ask for.
She blinked, clearly surprised to see someone else.
"Someone here?" she asked, her voice unusually soft.
The man shrugged, fingers grazing over the strings. "I'm here."
She stepped into the room, her gaze scanning the empty chairs and silent instruments. Her tense expression softened just slightly, though her lips stayed pressed together. Without a word, she crossed the room and sat at the piano—not to play, just to sit. Her hands rested in her lap.
"This place is empty…"
"Yeah… as you can see.."
She hesitated, then said, "My band kicked me out." Her voice dropped. "I needed somewhere to go."
The man's fingers stilled on the strings. He knew that feeling—the sting of being shut out. But he didn't know what to say. So he didn't.
Instead, he asked gently, "Why are you here?"
She gave a small, tired smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't know where else to go. This place... it's quiet."
Before he could respond, the door opened again.
This time, another girl stepped in. Her entrance felt different—calm, unshaken, almost surreal. Long white hair trailed behind her as if caught in some unseen wind. Her posture was perfect, her eyes unreadable. She didn't speak, didn't react. Just walked over to her usual spot by the window, pulled out a book, and sat down without looking at them.
The stillness grew heavier.
The first girl leaned closer to the man and whispered, "Is she always like that?"
"Yeah," he said, picking a soft chord progression. "She doesn't talk much."
White haired girl's voice sliced through the room without her eyes leaving the page. "I'm not deaf."
The first girl flinched slightly. The man smirked.
"So…" he tried to ease the tension, "who are you?"
The first girl let out a short laugh—her first real one since she entered. "Rinai Azuraa."
He nodded. "I'm Gio. And that over there is Aerilyn Yuki."
Aerilyn didn't react. She flipped a page with mechanical grace.
"Hello… I guess?" Rinai said, eyeing her with amused suspicion.
"You can stay," Gio added quietly.
Aerilyn looked up for a single heartbeat, then nodded and returned to her book.
"Thanks," Rinai said. Then under her breath, "Actually… pretty much everyone knows her."
"Yeah," Gio replied, voice low. "She's number one."
Aerilyn didn't react. As if the words bounced right off her.
But something shifted then. Just enough. For the first time in a long while, the music room didn't feel so empty.
That day ended not with words, but with the weight of unspoken things. so heavy and still it felt like it could slice through time.
***
The next day, none of them had planned to meet. But they came anyway.
Gio sat with his guitar again, repeating a slow, melancholic melody. His fingers fumbled now and then. Across the room, Aerilyn sighed and snapped her book shut. Rinai, seated at the piano bench, looked up.
"Something wrong?" Gio asked, glancing at Aerilyn.
Without a word, she stood and walked over, holding out her hand.
"Give it to me."
He blinked."What?" His eyes met hers. To Gio, Aerilyn looked... mildly irritated, maybe, though her expression barely changed.
She didn't answer. Afraid of her eyes, Gio handed her the guitar.
Her fingers settled naturally on the strings. She played the same melody he had struggled with—only smoother, richer. Like water instead of gravel.
Rinai's eyes widened. "What the...? Damn, that's smooth Aeri."
Aerilyn finished the melody, then looked at Gio. "You're too tense. Your fingers are fighting the sound." Little pause, "Stop calling me Aeri. Aerilyn."
"Oh– Okay sorry" Rinai replied, she made a hand gesture as if she felt guilty.
She handed the guitar back, a sliver of amusement in her otherwise neutral expression.
"You could've said something earlier," Gio mumbled.
"I didn't feel like it," she replied with a shrug.
Rinai stood and walked to the drum kit. "Let me guess—you can play these too?"
Aerilyn glanced at the drums, then at Rinai. A faint smirk formed.
She sat behind the kit and, without hesitation, began tapping out a rhythm. Complex, clean, deliberate.
Rinai stared in disbelief. "Okay, seriously? Is there anything you can't do?"
Aerilyn didn't answer with words—her playing did that for her.
Gio tried mimicking her technique. His hands relaxed. The chords came easier. Rinai joined in with light piano notes. Aerilyn shifted between instruments effortlessly.
And for a few minutes, they didn't need words. Just rhythm, sound, and the strange comfort of being quietly together.
When the music faded, Rinai leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
"I didn't think I'd ever play again… not after what happened with the band."
Aerilyn, now at the piano, glanced over.
Gio spoke carefully. "Why'd they kick you out?"
Rinai exhaled. "They said it was creative differences. Really, I just stopped pretending things were okay when they weren't."
Aerilyn's fingers hovered over the keys. "Most people don't want honesty. They want peace. Even if it's fake."
Gio looked at her. "You say that like you've been there."
She didn't look back. "Maybe."
The quiet this time wasn't heavy. Just thoughtful.
Rinai broke it, voice soft. "I guess we're all just trying to get by."
"Yeah," Gio murmured. "Killing time until something changes."
Aerilyn's voice came quietly. "Or until we stop caring."
Her words lingered like the final note of a sad song.
Then Rinai stretched and forced a smile. "No point moping. Might as well kill time with music."
She returned to the piano. Aerilyn followed. Gio watched for a moment, then picked up his guitar again—fingers lighter, the melody clearer.
Maybe this wasn't just about passing time anymore.
Even a single dropped pick echoed in the hollow room, like the space remembered its old symphonies.
Day After Day…
Outside, faint voices echoed down the hall—laughter, a basketball thudding against gym floors, the sound of running footsteps fading past the door.
The music room breathed easier now. As if the walls themselves had loosened their grip on the past.
Late afternoon light spilled in through the windows, catching dust in delicate suspension. Gio strummed idly, his fingers more sure than before, the chords stretching like a yawn into the quiet space. Aerilyn sat at the piano bench, silent, unmoving, her fingers resting but not playing. Rinai stood at the window, her gaze stitched to the pale sky beyond.
Then—unexpectedly—Rinai turned around. A flicker of mischief tugged at her lips.
"You've heard me on piano," she said, voice lilting. "But none of you knew I could sing."
Gio looked up, brows raised. "Singing?"
Rinai grins. "Used to be the lead vocalist in my band. You know, before things kinda fell apart."
Aerilyn glanced over—barely—but something in her stillness shifted.
Rinai didn't wait. She closed her eyes and began to sing.
It started low—soft and husky, like the first raindrop on an old roof. Then it opened, blooming with a trembling clarity that filled the room like water rising. The words were unimportant. It was the tone—aching and naked—that pulled the air tighter around them.
Gone was the girl who joked and teased. This voice belonged to someone wounded and wide open. Her voice rose and fell like it remembered something it didn't want to say aloud.
Gio froze mid-strum. Aerilyn tilted her head, just slightly, as though recalibrating what she thought she knew.
When Rinai finished, the silence left behind felt oddly sacred.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking as though waking from somewhere distant. "Well…" she exhaled. "Guess I'm not completely useless after all."
Gio stared, still gripping his guitar like he'd forgotten it. "That was… Rinai, that was beautiful."
Aerilyn didn't lift her gaze, but her voice came—quiet, almost curious. "You sing like you're breaking."
Rinai blinked. "Um… thanks?"
Aerilyn stood, the bench creaking under her shift. "It wasn't a compliment," she said, but there was no edge to it. Only observation. A pause. "It was real."
Rinai watched her with new eyes, unsure how to respond. For a moment, something unspoken hung between them.
Then Gio checked the wall clock, exhaling. "It's late."
Rinai nodded and gathered her bag. Aerilyn was already near the door, moving like smoke—graceful, silent.
"Same time tomorrow?" Rinai asked, slinging her strap over her shoulder.
Gio smiled faintly. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Aerilyn paused in the doorway. "Maybe," she said, without turning.
And then they were gone, leaving the music room dim and quiet—but not empty.
Not anymore.
The silence that followed didn't feel empty anymore. Just full of what might come next.