*Chapter 2: Dissonance*
River couldn't sleep that night.
Skyler's words kept echoing in his head—"You're playing from memory, not from the heart." It felt like a slap, and worse, like the truth.
He sat at the edge of his bed in the dorms, the moonlight stretching thin lines across the floor. His fingers hovered above the phantom keys of the foldable keyboard he kept beside his bed. He played silently in the air, then paused. His usual flawless muscle memory faltered. His chest felt tight.
He hated it.
He hated that someone like Skyler—a chaotic, cocky, barefoot-in-the-hallways composer—had seen right through him in seconds.
***
At their next practice session, River arrived early. Skyler was already there, lounging on the floor, scribbling in a dog-eared composition book and humming softly.
"You're early," River said.
"You're late," Skyler replied without looking up. "Inspiration doesn't wait."
River crossed the room. "We're not collaborating."
Skyler finally looked up, eyes dancing. "You're here. That's a start."
River set his fingers on the keys and began to play Chopin—smooth, perfect, mechanical. Skyler stopped him midway.
"Stop playing like a robot."
River stood up, eyes blazing. "I'm not a robot. I've worked my whole life to—""To please judges?" Skyler cut in. "Is that why you play?"
River froze. His silence gave the answer away.
Skyler got up, walked over, and gently pushed him aside to sit at the keys. "Let me show you something."
He played a melody—simple, raw, a bit messy—but it bled with feeling. It told a story. River could almost see the rain-soaked streets and a figure standing alone in the dark. He swallowed hard.
Skyler turned. "Now you."
River hesitated.
And then, for the first time in years, he played something that wasn't on paper. He let his fingers speak. It was shaky, but honest. Skyler smiled.
"There he is," he whispered.
They sat there in silence, only the last note lingering between them. And something else—unspoken, but electric.
***
Later that night, Skyler sent River a voice note.
"That thing you played today? It stayed in my head all day. I think it's the start of something."
River listened to it three times before replying.
"Maybe."
But deep down, something was changing. Something was composing itself between the notes—note by note, touch by touch.
He didn't know what it was yet.
But he wanted to hear more.
—