The music room was supposed to be empty.
At least, that's what I had told myself when I slipped down the quiet hallway after classes ended. The rest of the academy buzzed with students heading to dorms and the cafeteria, but this wing was silent—like the building itself was holding its breath.
I pushed the door open slowly.
The familiar scent of polished wood and old sheet music filled the air.
Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, painting pale silver lines across the floor and the grand piano at the center of the room.
I shouldn't be here.
But my feet carried me forward anyway.
Ever since that day in the auditorium… the sound of his music hadn't left my head.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
And the way he'd stopped when he noticed me—like I had discovered something I wasn't meant to hear—made my curiosity grow stronger instead of fading.
So here I was.
Breaking rules.
Again.
I sat at the piano bench and lifted the cover slowly.
The keys gleamed under the dim light.
For a moment I just stared at them, remembering the melody he had played. My fingers hovered over the keys, hesitant, as if the piano itself might protest.
Then I tried.
Softly.
The first few notes came out uncertain, fragile. I searched through memory, piecing together the tune I'd heard from the shadows of the auditorium.
A small fragment emerged.
Not perfect.
But close.
The melody floated quietly through the room.
And then—
"You shouldn't be playing that."
My hands froze.
His voice.
Cold.
Sharp.
I turned slowly.
He stood by the doorway, half hidden in darkness.
Kai.
Of course it was him.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His dark eyes moved from me… to the piano… to my hands resting on the keys.
"You heard it that night," he said.
It wasn't a question.
My heart started racing.
"I— I was just practicing," I said quickly.
"Practicing?" His voice held the faintest trace of disbelief.
"You're playing my composition."
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't know it was yours," I whispered.
He walked closer, each step slow and deliberate.
"Don't lie."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
The air heavier.
"You followed the melody almost perfectly," he continued quietly. "No one else knows that piece."
His gaze lifted to meet mine.
"So tell me."
"How did you remember it?"
I swallowed.
"I just… liked it."
That was the truth.
But it wasn't the whole truth.
His expression didn't soften.
If anything, it grew colder.
"You shouldn't like it."
"Why not?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then he looked down at the piano keys, his jaw tightening.
"Because," he said quietly, "that melody was never meant to be heard."
My curiosity burned even brighter.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached past me and gently pressed a few keys.
The melody.
The same one.
But when he played it… it sounded completely different.
Darker.
Sad.
Almost painful.
I stared at his hands moving across the keys.
"You remembered it wrong," he murmured.
"I did?"
"Yes."
He played the next notes.
A hidden section of the melody unfolded—one I had never heard before.
My breath caught.
It was hauntingly beautiful.
When he finished, the last note echoed softly in the empty room.
Then he closed the piano lid.
"You shouldn't try to learn this song again."
"Why?"
His eyes met mine again.
For the first time since I met him, something flickered behind that cold expression.
Fear.
"Because if you learn the whole melody…"
He stepped back toward the door.
"You'll start asking questions."
I leaned forward.
"And if I do?"
A pause.
Then he opened the door.
"You won't like the answers."
And just like that—
He left.
The hallway swallowed him.
But the melody he played lingered in my mind.
Clearer now.
More complete.
More dangerous.
And despite his warning…
I knew one thing.
I was going to learn the rest of that song.
Even if it meant uncovering secrets he desperately wanted to keep hidden.