Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the rhythm of Elias’s heartbeat. He traced a fingertip across the dusty glass, smudging the view of the overgrown garden. Inside, the house felt cavernous, even with his sister, Clara, bustling about. Their grandmother’s scent – lavender and old books – still clung to the air, a constant, gentle pressure. He hadn't touched the piano in the living room since they'd arrived. Every attempt felt like a disservice to the memories that clung to the keys.
The furniture was draped in white sheets. Clara, energetic, chirped about selling off the contents; “A clean slate!” she’d said. Elias found himself wandering from room to room, touching the surfaces, feeling the weight of the past. He ran a hand over the worn surface of the dining table, imagining family dinners, laughter echoing through the years. The silence now was a palpable thing, heavy and pervasive.
"You alright, Eli?" Clara asked, her voice echoing from the kitchen. He nodded, but the simple act felt like a monumental effort. He knew she was concerned, but the effort of explaining the quiet ache in his chest seemed overwhelming. The rain continued to fall, a soundtrack to his slow descent.