Laura does not wake up questioning music.
She wakes up questioning choice.
The thought arrives without announcement.
Did I ever choose this?
It does not feel dramatic.
It feels logistical.
Like reviewing a contract she never signed.
-
She walks into rehearsal early.
Piano uncovered.
Room still.
She runs her fingers across the keys without pressing them.
Muscle memory hums.
Her hands know what to do.
They have always known.
That is not the same as wanting.
Euphony Trio was Axel's idea.
She remembers that clearly.
He was the one who said:
"We could build something real."
Laura had evaluated feasibility.
Venue potential.
Repertoire range.
Scheduling.
Academic balance.
She optimized it.
She refined the brand.
Structured rehearsals.
Handled outreach.
Maintained cohesion.
She never asked herself:
Do I want this?
Wanting was inefficient.
If something worked, it was worth sustaining.
She tries to locate the moment she fell in love with music.
There must have been one.
People say things like:
"I couldn't imagine my life without it."
Laura can imagine it easily.
That realization unsettles her more than the whip ever did.
Pain had clarity.
Desire does not.
Abuse she understands.
It has parameters.
Cause and effect.
Mistake and consequence.
But wanting something—
That requires preference.
Preference requires self.
She is not sure when she last operated from preference.
Sunny sings in the hallway.
Off-key.
Careless.
Laughing at herself.
Laura listens.
Sunny chose to sing.
She was afraid.
Then she chose anyway.
That difference matters.
Zane chose to leave.
Then chose to return.
Axel chose to stay.
Laura has optimized every choice around her.
But what has she chosen?
She sits at the piano.
Plays a piece she has performed hundreds of times.
Flawless.
Accurate.
Empty.
The sound fills the room perfectly.
She feels nothing.
Not boredom.
Not joy.
Just completion.
When she finishes, she does not feel satisfied.
She feels efficient.
The thought surfaces again.
If Euphony Trio ended tomorrow—
Would she grieve?
Or would she recalibrate?
The answer does not come immediately.
That frightens her.
Not because she fears losing music.
Because she does not know if she ever possessed it.
Axel enters quietly.
"Early."
She nods.
"You too."
They do not discuss anything deeper.
He tunes his guitar.
She adjusts the bench.
Their synchronization is effortless.
Habitual.
Comfortable.
But she notices something new.
When he plays, there is softness in it.
Choice in it.
He bends notes slightly.
Experiments.
He enjoys it.
She studies that enjoyment like it is foreign.
-
Later that evening, alone again, she writes something in her notes app:
Did I ever choose music?
Or was I assigned to it?
She stares at the sentence.
She does not delete it.
That is progress.
-
Laura closes the piano lid.
Does not lock it.
For years, she always locked it.
She pauses at the door.
Looks back at the instrument.
Not with resentment.
Not with devotion.
With uncertainty.
And uncertainty feels far more destabilizing than pain ever did.