Strings To Your Heart

PROLOGUE

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PROLOGUE

The final chord rang out, and for a split second, everything was still.

Then, the crowd erupted. Cheers, screams, and the electric buzz of an audience swept up in the music filled the air. The stage lights bathed everything in gold lights, and I stood there, catching my breath, heart racing from the adrenaline of the performance.

We did it.

Our band had just played at the Interschool Battle of the Bands, competing against schools from across the city. And from the way the audience responded, we had left our mark. I turned to my bandmates, my eyes instinctively finding River. He was grinning, still caught in the high of the performance. I glanced at the audience one last time, took a bow, and waved. As I made my way down the steps of the stage, for a fleeting second, I felt a familiar sense of anticipation—this was the part where he always reached for my hand, his quiet way of grounding me after a show.

I stepped forward, expecting it.

But this time… he didn’t.

I glanced at him, waiting. But all he did was adjust his guitar strap, give me a small nod, and walk off.

Like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

A hollow feeling settled in my chest. I had never felt this before. But before I could process it, a firm grip wrapped around my wrist.

The touch was familiar. Too familiar.

Before I could react, I was being pulled away—offstage, past the lingering crowd, into the dimly lit backstage corridor. Away from the noise, the band, and him.

I already knew who it was before I even looked up.

Damian.

I knew he was here.

He let go as soon as we were alone, exhaling like he had been holding his breath for too long. His dark eyes—usually sharp and unreadable—flickered with something I never thought I’d see in them.

Guilt.

Regret.

“I—” He hesitated, running a hand through his messy hair. “I messed up, I know.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “That’s an understatement.”

He let out a humorless chuckle, the kind he always did when he was guilty. But this time, there was no smirk. No teasing remarks. No games. Just raw, quiet regret.

“I was an i***t," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "I thought if I was the one who walked away first, it wouldn’t hurt as much.” He swallowed hard, clenching his fists at his sides. “That if I didn’t explain, I wouldn’t have to face the truth that—” He stopped himself, closing his eyes briefly. Then, he reached for my shoulders, forcing me to face him. I wanted to push him away, but I couldn’t move. “That I let go of the best thing that ever happened to me.”

His words hit me like a chord struck too hard.

He really regretted what he did.

I almost felt something for him at that moment, but I quickly pushed it down.

"I was jealous," he confessed, releasing my shoulders, his voice quieter now. "Watching you two up there—" He paused, his jaw tightening. "The way you looked at each other, the way he played for you, how you sang like he was the only one in the room…" He trailed off, shaking his head as frustration seeped into his words.

I knew that frustration. Jealousy.

"It made me feel sick," he admitted bitterly. "Like an i***t who gave away something irreplaceable." His voice cracked slightly at the end, anger and helplessness mixing together.

I looked around, making sure no one was nearby, then turned back to him, blinking at the weight of his words. Then, I let out a small, almost amused breath. "Damian, it was nothing." I shook my head. "It was just part of the performance." For a moment, he just stared at me. Like he wanted to believe me. Like he wished it were true.

But we both knew better.

A tense silence stretched between us.

“You know, it wasn’t some big romantic moment," I added, frustration creeping into my tone. "We were just performing. That’s what we do, right? Like we used to do before—”

“BUT WE WERE TOGETHER WHEN WE DID THAT!” His sudden outburst made me freeze. His voice, the anger in it—I hated this. This was exactly what I hated about him. I just stared at him, my expression blank. Then, I sighed, crossing my arms. I looked at him for a long second, silently telling him he was wrong. Realization finally dawned on his face. “S-sorry,” he muttered, looking down.

I shook my head. “No, Damian. You haven’t changed.” He flinched slightly at my words. “You told me you would," I said bitterly. "But when?”

Damian opened his mouth, but no words came out. "I-i still care about you," he admitted quietly. "I don’t want you to think I don’t."

I swallowed, my heartbeat uneven. "But you let me go." His face crumpled slightly, as if I had just told him the one truth he had been running from.

"I was scared," he said, his voice trembling. His dark eyes were teary-eyed. I had never seen him like this before. Was his regret really this deep? "But I see it now," he whispered. "It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I couldn’t just forgive him. Damian seemed to sense it. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He took a step back, unable to fix what was already broken. "You don’t have to say anything else, Damian," I finally whispered. "I spent too much time waiting. Too much time trying to figure out what you wanted… when you didn’t even know what you wanted yourself."

I turned to leave. Then, he spoke one last time.

“I’m sorry, Jade,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I still love you. You know that.”

I didn’t respond.

Because I was done waiting.

I had my own music to make, my own future to build. And for the first time in a long time, I knew I didn’t need anyone else to figure it out. As I walked down the dim hallway, I didn’t feel the weight of Damian’s apology, or the confusion with River.

I just felt free.

And then, I saw him.

River.

He stood by the door, arms crossed. His usual carefree expression was gone, replaced with something unreadable. His gaze locked onto mine, and my breath caught in my throat. For a moment, I froze. The weight of everything—Damian’s words, my own emotions, and the past few minutes—pressed down on me.

I didn’t know what I expected from River.

But I certainly wasn’t expecting this.

"River…" My voice was small, uncertain.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he slowly unfolded his arms, stepping toward me. His eyes never left mine. “You heard, didn’t you?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

I looked away, embarrassed.

"I don’t know what you want me to say, Jade." His voice was quiet, serious. "I saw you two talking. I saw how close you were. But I don’t know if it was real… or just another performance." I was taken aback. "Is that really how you see it?" His gaze softened, but his voice still held an edge. "I don’t know what to think anymore."

I exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to be stuck in the past, River.”

He took another step closer. "So what now?"

I met his gaze. "I don’t know. But I need to figure it out. For myself."

He nodded. “Alright, Jade. Take your time.” And for the first time in forever, I didn’t feel the need to rush.

Not with River.

Not with anyone.