The Space Between Notes

Maya

The first time I saw him, he arguing with a vending machine. It was after nine, the campus building nearly empty, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I was packed up my violin when I heard the clatter of coins and indignant, " "Seriously? You ate my dollars?"

He kicked the machine. The machine stayed silent .

I don't usually talk to strangers, especially ones swearing at metal boxes, but the look on his face a mix of frustration and heartbreak, made me laugh before I could stop myself .

He turned. Brown eyes, tired but kind. "You think it's funny?"

" A little," I said. "But mostly I think you're losing."

That made me smile, slow and croaked. Guess I deserve that."

He was in my ear training class,I realised later the guy who always stayed quite but hummed perfect intervals under his breath. His name was Liam.

We started talking about that . First about vending machine, then about music theory, then about everything that lives in the spaces between songs, silence, fear, longing, the kind of stuff that doesn't have notation.

Liam

She had the kind of laugh that made silence jealous.

When she caught me arguing with the Vending machine, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow her me. But then she smiled like it wasn't stupid at all, like maybe she 'd been waiting for something to interrupt her evening.

That was Maya. Always a melody in motion, always turned to whatever the world offered her.

I'd seen her before second chair Violin, hair always tied back with pencil, fingers Maya

The first time I saw him, he arguing with a vending machine. It was after nine, the campus building nearly empty, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I was packed up my violin when I heard the clatter of coins and indignant, " "Seriously? You ate my dollars?"

He kicked the machine. The machine stayed silent .

I don't usually talk to strangers, especially ones swearing at metal boxes, but the look on his face a mix of frustration and heartbreak, made me laugh before I could stop myself .

He turned. Brown eyes, tired but kind. "You think it's funny?"

" A little," I said. "But mostly I think you're losing."

That made me smile, slow and croaked. Guess I deserve that."

He was in my ear training class,I realised later the guy who always stayed quite but hummed perfect intervals under his breath. His name was Liam.

We started talking about that . First about vending machine, then about music theory, then about everything that lives in the spaces between songs, silence, fear, longing, the kind of stuff that doesn't have notation.

Liam

She had the kind of laugh that made silence jealous.

When she caught me arguing with the Vending machine, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow her me. But then she smiled like it wasn't stupid at all, like maybe she 'd been waiting for something to interrupt her evening.

That was Maya. Always a melody in motion, always turned to whatever the world offered her.

I'd seen her before second chair Violin, hair always tied back with pencil, fingers moving like lightening. She was the kind of person who made you want to practice more, not because she was perfect, but because she believed in every note .

We started hanging out in the practice rooms, sharing snacks, trading playlist. She'd play me Schubert and I'd play her the rough songs. I wrote at 2 a.m and the ones I never showed anyone .

She'd listen, eyes half closed, head swaying just a little. "You write like you are apologizing," she said once.

I didn't know what that meant until she smiled. "Stop saying sorry in your music. Just say what you feel,"

That night I rewrote everything .

Maya

It took 3 months for the friendship to shift or maybe it was shifting the whole time I just didn't want to name it.

There were signs. The way our hands brushed when passing sheet music. The way he started walking me home after rehearsals. The way I do find excuses to text him " did you hear that new score from the movie?" Even when what I really wanted to say was "I miss you."

We never said anything outright. Maybe that was safer.

One evening, he played me something new. Just piano no lyrics. Soft and searching.

"What's it called?" I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment and answering " Maya."

I forgot how to breath.

He laughed it off right after said it wasn't a big deal, that it was " just a name," but the air between us changed. Thicker. Charged.

That night, when he hugged me goodbye, my fingers lingered a little too long on his sleeve . I don't think he minded.

Liam

I named the piece "Maya" yeah but I didn't expect her to know.

She looked at me like she could see straight through the mess of feelings I'd been trying to play instead of confessing.

It scared me, how much I wanted her to understand.

But then she smiled, that quite kind of smile that feels like sunlight on the back of your neck, and I thought maybe she did.

After that, every moment felt louder her laughter in a hallway, her shoulder blushing mine, even the silences that stretched too long to be casual.

I started dreaming about her not the kind of dreams you tell people about. The kind were you are just walking beside someone forever and somehow that's enough.

Maya

Spring has come. Recital season. The kind of pressure that makes everyone edgy.

We both got inside the ensemble performance a four hands piano piece arranged for Violin and piano. Debussy's Clair da Lune.

We practised until the music stopped feeling like music and started feeling like and started feeling like heartbeat.

The night of the performance, I was shaking backstage. Liam reached out and took my hand, steady and warm. "You've got this, he whispered.

We played. And for four minutes, everything was perfect . Every note, every breath, every glance.

When it ended, the applause faded fast, but the look he gave me didn't.

I almost said it then I love you.

But I didn't, because the next morning, he told me he got accepted into a conservatory across the country.

Liam

I thought telling her would be easier. It wasn't.

When I said the words "I'm living in August" I saw the light drain from her face. She smiled anyway. Of course she did.

"I'm proud of you," she said. "You deserve it."

But there a crack in her voice that hit harder than any applause ever could.

I wanted to ask her to come with me. But she had one year left in her programme. She was building something here.

So I didn't ask. I told myself love was timing, and maybe ours was just one step off.

We promised to stay I touch. We meant it. For a while.

Then texts turn to silence, and silence turned into the same kind of absence you can hear in music the part you know something was missing, even if you can't name what.

Maya two years later

I saw his name in a concert poster last night . Liam Reyes: Piano Recital Original works.

I almost didn't go. But I did.

He didn't see me at first, he just sat down at the Piano exhaled, and began to play.

The second piece was familiar hesitate, tender, the same melody from the night he played "Maya," only now it was fuller, braver as if he'd stopped apologizing I cried quietly in the back row.

After the show, he spotted me. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he smiled, that same croaked smile from years age.

"Maya," he said like testing the weight of the name again.

"Hi," he stopped " You stopped saying sorry in your music."

He laughed softly. You told me to."

And somehow, that felt like enough for now.

Liam

Seeing her again felt like hearing an unfinished song find its last chord.

We didn't rush. Didn't promise anything. Just stood outside the hall, talking about everything and nothing like old times.

The air was cold

like lightening. She was the kind of person who made you want to practice more, not because she was perfect, but because she believed in every note .

We started hanging out in the practice rooms, sharing snacks, trading playlist. She'd play me Schubert and I'd play her the rough songs. I wrote at 2 a.m and the ones I never showed anyone .

She'd listen, eyes half closed, head swaying just a little. "You write like you are apologizing," she said once.

I didn't know what that meant until she smiled. "Stop saying sorry in your music. Just say what you feel,"

That night I rewrote everything .

Maya

It took 3 months for the friendship to shift or maybe it was shifting the whole time I just didn't want to name it.

There were signs. The way our hands brushed when passing sheet music. The way he started walking me home after rehearsals. The way I do find excuses to text him " did you hear that new score from the movie?" Even when what I really wanted to say was "I miss you."

We never said anything outright. Maybe that was safer.

One evening, he played me something new. Just piano no lyrics. Soft and searching.

"What's it called?" I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment and answering " Maya."

I forgot how to breath.

He laughed it off right after said it wasn't a big deal, that it was " just a name," but the air between us changed. Thicker. Charged.

That night, when he hugged me goodbye, my fingers lingered a little too long on his sleeve . I don't think he minded.

Liam

I named the piece "Maya" yeah but I didn't expect her to know.

She looked at me like she could see straight through the mess of feelings I'd been trying to play instead of confessing.

It scared me, how much I wanted her to understand.

But then she smiled, that quite kind of smile that feels like sunlight on the back of your neck, and I thought maybe she did.

After that, every moment felt louder her laughter in a hallway, her shoulder blushing mine, even the silences that stretched too long to be casual.

I started dreaming about her not the kind of dreams you tell people about. The kind were you are just walking beside someone forever and somehow that's enough.

Maya

Spring has come. Recital season. The kind of pressure that makes everyone edgy.

We both got inside the ensemble performance a four hands piano piece arranged for Violin and piano. Debussy's Clair da Lune.

We practised until the music stopped feeling like music and started feeling like and started feeling like heartbeat.

The night of the performance, I was shaking backstage. Liam reached out and took my hand, steady and warm. "You've got this, he whispered.

We played. And for four minutes, everything was perfect . Every note, every breath, every glance.

When it ended, the applause faded fast, but the look he gave me didn't.

I almost said it then I love you.

But I didn't, because the next morning, he told me he got accepted into a conservatory across the country.

Liam

I thought telling her would be easier. It wasn't.

When I said the words "I'm living in August" I saw the light drain from her face. She smiled anyway. Of course she did.

"I'm proud of you," she said. "You deserve it."

But there a crack in her voice that hit harder than any applause ever could.

I wanted to ask her to come with me. But she had one year left in her programme. She was building something here.

So I didn't ask. I told myself love was timing, and maybe ours was just one step off.

We promised to stay I touch. We meant it. For a while.

Then texts turn to silence, and silence turned into the same kind of absence you can hear in music the part you know something was missing, even if you can't name what.

Maya two years later

I saw his name in a concert poster last night . Liam Reyes: Piano Recital Original works.

I almost didn't go. But I did.

He didn't see me at first, he just sat down at the Piano exhaled, and began to play.

The second piece was familiar hesitate, tender, the same melody from the night he played "Maya," only now it was fuller, braver as if he'd stopped apologizing I cried quietly in the back row.

After the show, he spotted me. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he smiled, that same croaked smile from years age.

"Maya," he said like testing the weight of the name again.

"Hi," he stopped " You stopped saying sorry in your music."

He laughed softly. You told me to."

And somehow, that felt like enough for now.

Liam

Seeing her again felt like hearing an unfinished song find its last chord.

We didn't rush. Didn't promise anything. Just stood outside the hall, talking about everything and nothing like old times.

The air was cold, but she didn't seem to notice when I reached for her hand .

This time, she didn't let go.

Coda Together

The Rehearsal space smelled of dust and history. We sat side by side her Violin tuned, my fingers hovering above the keys .

"Ready?" She asked.

I noded.

We played.

The melody rose and folded, her Violin threading through my Piano like two halves of a single breath. For the first time, there was no hesitation, no distance just music that finally knew where it Belonged.

When the last note hung in the air, we looked at each other and laughed, the kind of laugh that fills the silence after a long, unfinished song.

And in that echo, I realised:

Love isn't the melody. It's the space between notes the waiting, the almosts, the quite courage of two people finding their way back to the same tune.