Gemotions

The air in the rehearsal room was thick with the scent of rosin and unmet expectations. Liam had always relied on Mr. Bellweather’s knowing nod, his quiet encouragement. They had spent years perfecting their craft, their bond stronger than any friendship. But he had left. A small note taped to the door, a few lines of farewell. Nothing else.

Liam tightened the bow on his violin, the strings screaming a discordant note. He saw his own reflection in the dusty mirror, a face etched with a familiar pain. He wished he could make music, not this ugly noise.

He stopped, frustrated. He picked up his violin. He walked out of the rehearsal room, the instrument heavy in his arms. He slammed the door, the sound resonating in the empty hall. He needed to prove himself.