It was always the same room.
Same dusty piano.
Same half-lit windows.
Same untouched silence — except for him.
Alex didn't mean to go looking for Elias.
She told herself she was headed to the library, or the lab, or literally anywhere else.
But her feet had their own logic.
So when she found herself standing outside the music room again — staring through the narrow rectangle of glass in the door — she wasn't surprised.
Elias was inside.
Hood off. Sleeves rolled. Fingers resting on keys that hadn't moved yet.
A notebook sat open beside him, messy and uneven. Not like his usual work.
He wasn't writing for perfection.
He was writing for himself.
She cracked the door open.
He didn't look up. Didn't flinch.
He knew she was there.
She stepped in, slow and quiet, until she could see the lyrics. Not all of them — just enough.
> She cuts through the room like she's measuring it.
Every glance is a calculation, every silence louder than math.
She's got equations in her eyes and a wall around her throat—
He stopped playing.
Alex didn't speak.
The silence buzzed.
"You shouldn't be here," Elias said softly.
"You left the door unlocked."
"That doesn't mean it was open."
He didn't look at her. Just stared at the page, pen hovering.
"Is it about me?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
"Because if it's not," she continued, "you're either plagiarizing my internal monologue... or stalking me with a telescope."
Still no answer.
"Say something."
Finally, he looked up.
Their eyes met. And there was no teasing this time. No sarcastic smirks or banter shields.
Just... vulnerability.
"You're in my head," he said.
Three words. That's all.
But Alex's breath caught anyway.
She swallowed.
"Then why do you keep pushing me out?"
Elias dropped his gaze again.
"Because every time I let someone in," he said, "they turn it into a song they can sell."
Alex blinked. "That's not me."
He almost smiled. Almost.
"I know."
Then why won't you— she didn't say it. She couldn't.
She just looked at the notebook again, then back at him.
And said, "Finish it."
Then turned and left.
Leaving Elias with one unfinished song, one open notebook, and one impossible girl who'd already heard too much.