CHAPTER 7. SING WHEN I FEEL MELANCHOLIC
EMILY COOPER POV'
I managed to navigate the garden, my feet carrying me along winding paths and past vibrant flowerbeds bursting with color.
The garden was breathtaking - lush green grass stretched towards the horizon,
punctuated by vibrant flowers that bloomed in every color of the rainbow.
Delicate fountains bubbled and splashed softly, their melodic voices weaving in and out of the sweet songs of the birds.
Towering trees with trunks as wide as houses stretched towards the sky, their leafy branches swaying gently in the breeze like nature's own ballet.
A meandering stone path wound its way through the garden, lined with soft golden lights that cast a warm glow over the entire scene.
The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the soft chirping of crickets, creating a sense of peace and tranquility that enveloped me like a warm hug.
I walked to the white swing, its wooden slats smooth and worn from countless afternoons of laughter and conversation.
Sitting down, I felt the gentle creak of the chains as the swing swayed softly back and forth, carrying me with it in a soothing rhythm.
I enjoyed the silence, broken only by the distant sound of laughter and music drifting from the mansion.
And of course, the quiches - those delicious little morsels that Isabella had given me were the perfect accompaniment to this peaceful evening.
Before long, the plate was finished, my growling stomach satisfied and my taste buds singing with joy.
The breeze tonight was lovely, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the distant hint of salt from the ocean.
The moon was out and full as well, casting a silver glow over the entire garden like a benediction from above.
Staring at the starry sky, I felt a sense of deja vu wash over me like a wave.
Back when Christopher and I were normal, we used to sit under the stars like this, sharing picnics and stories and laughter until the night grew cold and our parents called us home.
Sometimes we'd even sleep under the stars, our sleeping bags spread out on the grass as we gazed up at the sky in wonder.
But now, it was only me, enjoying the silence and the beauty of the night whiles nursing heartaches.
Sometimes I asked myself, if we hadn't gotten ourselves drunk that night, would we be normal friends,
not distancing ourselves like strangers?
The memories lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.
After what felt like hours, I got up, stretching my legs and brushing off the crumbs from my dress.
I walked towards the main building, but halted when I heard a melodious sound. It was coming from the other building behind the mansion, its beauty captivating my curiosity.
Long before, I stood before a glass-like building. It wasn't transparent, though - just reflected the outside, not the inside.
The music room stood alone, a sleek glass building that reflected the beauty of the garden like a mirror.
Its walls glinted in the moonlight, shimmering with a soft ethereal glow that seemed almost otherworldly.
As I stood there, mesmerized by the music room's beauty, the melodious sound grew louder, beckoning me closer.
I felt my feet move towards the building, as if drawn by an invisible force.
The doors were closed, but I could hear the sound of a piano being played with skill and passion.
The music was hauntingly beautiful, the notes seeming to dance in the air like fireflies on a summer night.
I felt my heart swell with emotion as I listened, the music evoking memories of laughter and tears, of joy and sorrow.
Without hesitation, I slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open, slipping inside quietly.
The room was dimly lit, with only a few soft lights illuminating the space.
The piano stood at the far end of the room, its sleek black surface gleaming in the soft light.
And sitting at the piano, his fingers moving deftly over the keys, was Christopher.
My heart skipped a beat as I watched him, his profile silhouetted against the soft light.
He was even more handsome than I remembered, his strong jawline and piercing eyes making my heart flutter in my chest.
His dark hair was a bit longer now, falling across his forehead in soft waves.
As he played, he began to sing, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine.
The song was one I didn't recognize, but the emotions behind it were palpable.
He sang of love and loss, of heartache and longing.
His voice cracked slightly on the high notes, adding a touch of vulnerability to the performance.
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I listened, the music and lyrics combining to create a sense of sorrow and yearning.
I didn't realize I had moved closer, my feet carrying me towards the piano as if drawn by an invisible force.
Suddenly, the music stopped, and I felt a sense of disappointment wash over me.
I was about to approach him, to say something - anything - when a feminine voice cut through the silence.
"Christopher, darling, you sang beautifully tonight," she cooed, her voice dripping with admiration.
I turned to see a girl sitting on a velvet chair nearby, her long blonde hair cascading down her back like a golden waterfall.
Her eyes were blue and cold, her lips painted a deep red that seemed almost black in the dim light.
She was stunningly beautiful, but there was something about her that seemed off - something that made my instincts scream at me to stay away.
She was no other but Alessia Cara.
As I watched, she glided towards Christopher, her hips swaying gently with each step. She reached him and leaned in, pecking him softly on the cheek.
My heart twisted in my chest as I watched the exchange, a pang of heartache shooting through me like a bullet.
I remembered the time I had begged Christopher to sing for me, and he had refused, saying he didn't like his voice.
We had been at the beach, soaking up the sun and playing in the waves.
I had been trying to impress him with my stupid jokes, but he just laughed and teased me back.
Then, as we sat on our towels, watching the sunset paint the sky with hues of orange and pink, I turned to him and asked,
"Hey, Christopher, will you sing for me? I love your voice."
He looked at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.
"My voice is terrible, trust me. You don't want to hear me sing."
I pouted, feeling a little hurt by his refusal.
"Come on, just one song? I promise I'll be your biggest fan!"
He chuckled and shook his head.
"No way, I'd rather stick needles in my eyes. Besides, I only sing when I'm alone, and only when I'm feeling particularly melancholy. It's a habit I'm trying to break, actually."
I remembered feeling a little disappointed, but also curious.
Why did he only sing when he was alone and feeling sad?
What was he hiding?
But now, it seemed, he had no problem singing for Alessia - his fiancée.
The thought sent a stab of pain through my heart, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
I had no right to feel this way, I told myself. Christopher and I were just friends - or at least, we used to be.
But the pain I felt was real, and it was all I could do to hold back the tears.