Our second class ended much earlier than expected since our professor had to excuse himself due to a family emergency. As the students started packing up and leaving, I remained seated, tapping my fingers lightly on my desk.
Sam stretched her arms and yawned. "Well, that was unexpected. Feels weird to be done this early."
I nodded, absentmindedly. "Yeah… too early to go home."
She tilted her head, observing me. "You're not planning to leave yet, are you?"
I shrugged. "Not really feeling like heading home just yet."
Sam's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh! Then let's go somewhere. Coffee? Library? A random adventure?"
I chuckled at her enthusiasm. "You do realize 'random adventure' isn't exactly on my to-do list for today, right?"
She pouted dramatically. "Boring. But fine, I'll settle for coffee."
I grabbed my bag, considering it for a moment. "Actually… the library sounds nice. I need to go over some readings anyway."
Sam sighed but nodded. "Alright, bookworm. But I'm getting coffee first."
As we made our way out of the classroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that today wasn't meant to end just yet—that something, or maybe someone, was waiting for me.
As we walked down the hallway, Samantha's phone suddenly rang. She glanced at the screen, and her face lit up when she saw the caller ID—her mom. Without hesitation, she answered, immediately switching to Korean as she spoke in an animated tone.
I walked beside her, pretending not to eavesdrop, though I could tell from her excited voice that it was something important. When the call ended, she let out a deep breath, turning to me with an apologetic smile.
"Noa, I'm so sorry, but I have to go," she said, practically bouncing on her feet. "My parents are here! They traveled all the way just to surprise me!"
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "That's amazing, Sam! You should totally go spend time with them."
She hesitated for a second, guilt flashing across her face. "But… I feel bad leaving you alone. We were supposed to hang out."
I playfully rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. You don't need to feel guilty about this. Go! Enjoy your time with them."
She sighed in relief and gave me a quick hug. "You're the best! I'll make it up to you, I promise."
With that, she waved goodbye and rushed off, leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway. I watched her disappear around the corner, and just like that, I was left alone again.
I let out a small breath, adjusting my bag strap.
Well… now what?
As I walked alone down the hallway, scanning for the library, a student suddenly approached me and handed me a flyer. I took it politely, giving them a small nod before continuing on my way.
Curious, I glanced down at the paper in my hands.
"Braun Music Center – Open for New Members!"
I slowed my steps, my eyes lingering on the words longer than necessary. My fingers subconsciously tightened around the flyer.
The library was just a few steps ahead, its doors wide open, inviting me in. I had planned to spend my free time there, maybe do some studying or get lost in a book. But as I stood there at the crossroads between familiarity and something unknown, I felt an unexpected pull, an invisible string tugging me in another direction.
I hesitated for only a second before my feet made the decision for me.
Instead of entering the library, I turned on my heel and started walking the other way.
Toward Braun Music Center.
After a three-minute walk from Stanford Law School to Braun Music Center, I found myself standing in front of the building, hesitating. My mind told me to turn back, but my feet had other plans, leading me forward.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.
The space was alive with energy, students bustling around, some carrying instruments, others chatting excitedly, and a few warming up their voices in the corners. The air buzzed with creativity, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline of the law school.
As I walked further in, several students approached me, handing out flyers and eagerly introducing their respective organizations. I accepted them politely, nodding along, though my mind was elsewhere.
Then, as I reached for another flyer, the student handing it to me suddenly froze, their eyes widening in recognition.
"Noa? Noa Schmid?"
I blinked, caught off guard. I wasn't expecting to be recognized here.
The student's voice had drawn the attention of a few others nearby, and soon, more heads turned in my direction. Whispered murmurs filled the space, and I could feel their curious gazes settle on me.
I swallowed, forcing a small smile. "Uh… yeah, that's me."
The student beamed. "I knew it! You used to play the cello, right? You were incredible!"
There it was again, that connection to a past I could barely remember. I felt my fingers instinctively tighten around the flyers in my hand.
"I—I did," I admitted, my voice quieter now.
A few more students gathered around, nodding excitedly. "You should totally join us! We have an amazing orchestra, and we'd love to have you in our team!"
I hesitated. The invitation was tempting, almost too tempting. But could I really do this? Could I step into a world that once felt like home, even when I no longer knew how to find my way in it?
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the flyers. How was I supposed to respond to that? They were all looking at me with such excitement, such admiration, like I was still the person they remembered.
But the truth was, I wasn't.
I forced a small smile. "Oh, that's… really nice of you to say."
"You should totally join us!" another student chimed in. "Our orchestra is always looking for talented musicians, and having the Noa Schmid back would be incredible!"
I let out a soft chuckle, trying to mask my discomfort. "I, uh… I'm kind of busy with law school right now." It wasn't a lie. Just not the real reason I couldn't join.
They nodded in understanding, but their enthusiasm didn't waver. "That makes sense, but if you ever change your mind, we'd love to have you. Music is something you never really lose, you know?"
I stiffened at those words. Music is something you never really lose.
But I had lost it. At least, my mind had. My body might still remember how to play, but my memories? They were gone.
I glanced down at the cello bracelet on my wrist, my thumb absentmindedly tracing its details. Could I really just pick up a cello and play again? Would it all come rushing back, like muscle memory? Or would I feel like a stranger to the instrument that had once been a part of me?
I looked back up at the group, their hopeful faces still waiting for an answer.
"I'll think about it," I finally said, my voice softer than before.
It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no.
But it was the closest I could get to the truth.
I thanked them with a polite nod and kept walking, my fingers still clutching the flyers as if they could somehow ground me. The further I walked, the more the noise of lively chatter and music began to fade, replaced by a peaceful stillness.
The energy of the bustling students gradually disappeared behind me, and soon, all that was left was the soft echo of my footsteps against the polished floor.
I scanned the rooms as I passed. Some filled with small ensembles practicing harmonies, others with students lost in their instruments, their eyes closed as they played. I saw a pianist gracefully gliding over the keys, a violinist carefully tuning her strings.
Then, I reached a hallway that was almost empty. It felt different... quieter, more intimate. At the very end of the corridor, a single door stood slightly ajar.
A strange pull in my chest urged me forward. Without fully thinking, my feet carried me toward it.
I placed my hand on the door, hesitating for just a moment before pushing it open.
Inside, the room was bathed in soft light from a large window. And there, in the center of it all, stood a single cello resting on its stand.
My heart pounded as if it remembered something my mind had already forgotten. I hesitated for a moment, standing at the edge of the room, my eyes scanning the surroundings. The faint sounds of conversation and laughter from down the hall slowly faded as I realized I was alone. My breath caught in my chest, the quiet amplifying the thudding of my pulse.
The cello sat there in its case, waiting. It felt like it was calling to me, but I couldn't explain why. Everything about it was so familiar, yet so foreign. I stepped closer, my fingers almost involuntarily reaching out to touch the smooth, polished wood. The cool surface sent a shiver through my fingertips, and suddenly, the memories began to flood back... fragmented, fleeting, but powerful.
I remembered the argument between Mom and Dad from last week. I could still feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. Mom had brought Luisa over—the woman who had once been my mentor, the one who had shaped me into the cellist I once was. The one who had made me believe that the cello was my destiny. They had argued fiercely that day, Dad's voice rising in frustration, his anger at the idea of pushing me back into a life I had left behind.
"I don't want her to feel forced, Amanda," Dad had said, his voice tense, but calm. "She's been through enough."
"I know what's best for her!" Mom had snapped, her eyes filled with a desperate hope. "She's meant to play, Gregory. She has to play."
In that moment, I had felt like a pawn in their game, trapped between two sides, one of love and care, the other of ambition and regret. But deep down, I knew I was the one who had to decide.
Now, standing here, the cello before me felt like a distant memory. I had convinced myself that I could never play again. That whatever talent I once had was lost when I woke up from the coma, when my mind wiped away all the things I loved.
But my body, it remembered.
I closed my eyes, and for a split second, I felt the pull, the familiar weight of the bow in my hand, the way my fingers naturally curved to press the strings. It was as if my body had never forgotten the motions, never forgotten the music.
I took a deep breath, uncertain. Could I do this again? Could I trust my body to remember what my mind had lost?
I slowly lifted the cello from its case, cradling it against me. The weight felt comforting, as if it belonged there, as if I was never supposed to have let go. My fingers instinctively found their place, resting on the strings, the bow hovering above. My heart raced, but I didn't move. I wasn't ready yet.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't just about the cello.
It was about remembering who I used to be. About reconnecting with the person I thought I had left behind. It was about rediscovering the parts of me that had been buried in the silence of my recovery.
I positioned myself, ready to give it another try. Maybe the note I played earlier had been just luck, but something inside me urged me to push forward. I closed my eyes, trying to quiet the noise in my mind, and focused on the memory of that one video of me playing Caruso. It was still so vivid in my mind, every note, every movement, every detail of the performance. I could almost feel the bow in my hand, the music flowing effortlessly through me.
Taking a deep breath, I placed my fingers on the strings and brought the bow to the cello, steadying my hands. I exhaled slowly and, with a soft but deliberate movement, began to play.
At first, the sound was shaky, uncertain... almost as if I were testing the waters. But then, something clicked. The music, the rhythm, the emotion, all of it came back to me. My fingers moved on their own, the motions so familiar despite the time that had passed.
To my surprise, I didn't falter. I continued to play, each note smoother than the last. It was as if my body had remembered exactly how to breathe life into the cello, how to make it sing.
I opened my eyes, barely aware of the passage of time. My heart raced with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. Was this really happening? I wasn't just playing; I was feeling the music again. It was real.
I couldn't stop playing. The music seemed to carry me, filling the room with a sound I thought I had lost forever.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt like myself again.
I raised an eyebrow, still feeling a little flustered. "Are you really stalking me?" I said, trying to mask the nerves with humor.
Professor Elsher chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I was waiting for my sister," he explained, gesturing toward the back of the stage. There, standing with wide eyes, was his younger sister, clearly captivated by my performance. "She's been watching you play this entire time," he added, smiling fondly.
I glanced over, surprised to see her there, still looking in awe at the cello. She didn't seem to notice us talking. "Wow," I muttered, feeling a bit shy under the sudden attention.
His sister stepped forward, her eyes bright with admiration. "That was amazing," she said, her voice full of wonder. "You made it sound so… beautiful. It was like magic!"
I couldn't help but smile at her excitement. "Thank you," I replied softly, still a little overwhelmed by the situation.
Professor Elsher looked between us, his smile turning a little more serious. "She's right, Noa. What you did in there was nothing short of magical. Don't ever doubt that."
His words echoed in my mind, but I wasn't sure what to say. My fingers still tingled from playing, and yet, I felt a deep sense of uncertainty about where this newfound connection to the cello would lead me.
Her younger sister leaned in and whispered something to Professor Elsher, her words barely audible, but they made him chuckle softly. As she pulled back, his gaze shifted to me, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. I could tell she had been talking about me.
Clearing his throat, he turned to me with a raised brow. "By the way," he began, his tone playful yet sincere, "this is Aleah," he gestured toward her, "and she wanted to ask you if you'd be interested in playing at her 18th birthday party."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden request. "Wait, what?" I stammered, looking between Professor Elsher and Aleah.
Aleah, now blushing slightly, spoke up shyly. "It would mean a lot to me if you could play. I've always loved the cello, and I thought it would be so special to have you perform."
I glanced at her, surprised by the earnestness in her eyes. It was a kind offer, one that felt warm and genuine, yet part of me hesitated. Playing in front of people again especially for a special event, felt like a huge step.
"I... I don't know," I said slowly, trying to think it through. "I haven't played for an audience in a long time, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for something like that."
Professor Elsher's smile softened, understanding my hesitation. "No pressure, Noa. It's just a thought, but I think you've got something special. And if you do decide to play, I'm sure it will be unforgettable."
Aleah nodded eagerly, her excitement palpable. "Please think about it," she said, her voice filled with hope.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their expectations but also the pull of something deeper, a desire to play again, to rediscover the part of me that I'd almost forgotten. "I'll think about it," I said, offering a tentative smile.
Aleah's face lit up, and she hugged me in excitement. "Thank you! I'll be so happy either way!"
As she stepped back, Professor Elsher gave me a knowing look, his expression quiet yet supportive. "Whenever you're ready, Noa. It's your decision."
I nodded, my mind racing with questions. Would I take the leap and play at her birthday? Could I really go back to performing?