The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that had settled in over the past year, heavy and suffocating, like a blanket no one could shake off.

Y/n's fingers found the keys without thinking. The piano had sat untouched for months—too many memories tangled in the ivory. But tonight, the silence was louder than the grief.

The first chord rang out, soft and tentative, filling the empty room.

Then the voice followed.

It was a song no one else had ever heard. A melody stitched together from stolen moments and whispered promises. I used to think the world was cold / Until you wrapped me in your fire...

The notes spilled out, raw and aching, each one a thread pulling at the wound that had never quite healed.

A year of empty rooms and empty nights / I still reach for you in the dark—