Chapter 3: The First Song
2105 Words
The first time Lena tried to write a song, she hated everything about it.
She hated the silence of her room, the way it seemed louder than any noise. She hated the blank page in front of her, too clean, too expectant. Most of all, she hated the way her thoughts refused to line up into anything that made sense.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, a spiral notebook open in front of her, pen tapping lightly against the paper.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just words.”
But it didn’t feel like just words.
It felt like something bigger. Something harder.
Something she didn’t quite know how to say.
She glanced over at her guitar, leaning against the wall near her desk. It wasn’t new—far from it. The wood was slightly scuffed near the edges, and one of the tuning pegs stuck if you turned it too fast. But it was hers.
She reached for it slowly, almost like it might disappear if she moved too quickly.
“Help me out here,” she whispered, half joking.
The guitar, of course, said nothing.
Still, she settled it across her lap, fingers brushing over the strings. The familiar texture grounded her just a little.
She strummed once.
The sound rang out softly, filling the room in a way silence couldn’t.
Better.
“Okay,” she said again, a little more confident this time.
She tried another chord. Then another.
Something simple.
Something easy.
She wasn’t trying to write anything amazing—at least, that’s what she told herself. This was just practice. Just figuring things out.
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t entirely true.
Because there was something in her chest that had been building lately. Something she didn’t talk about. Something she didn’t fully understand.
And somehow, she felt like music might be the only way to let it out.
She looked back at the notebook.
The page was still blank.
“Right,” she said. “Words.”
She lowered the pen to the paper.
Paused.
Then quickly scribbled something—anything.
I don’t know where to start
She stared at the line.
“…wow,” she muttered. “That’s terrible.”
She crossed it out immediately.
New line.
Sometimes it feels like—
She stopped again.
Ugh.
She dropped the pen onto the bed and flopped backward, staring up at the ceiling.
“This is impossible.”
A soft knock came from her door.
“Come in,” she called.
The door creaked open, and her mom peeked in. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Lena said quickly, sitting up. “Just… homework.”
Her mom raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, but didn’t push.
“Well, dinner’s in twenty minutes.”
“Okay.”
The door closed again, leaving Lena alone with her thoughts—and her unfinished song.
She sighed.
Maybe she was overthinking it.
Actually—she was definitely overthinking it.
She sat up again, pulling the notebook back into her lap.
“Just write,” she told herself. “It doesn’t have to be good.”
Easier said than done.
Her pen hovered over the page.
And then, without really planning to, she thought of him.
Noah.
The way he always showed up.
The way he never made things complicated.
The way everything felt easier when he was around.
Her grip on the pen tightened slightly.
Okay.
That was something.
She wrote:
You’re always there when I don’t know what to say
She paused.
Read it again.
Didn’t hate it.
That was a start.
She kept going.
Like you hear the words before they find their way
She stopped.
Her heart beat a little faster.
That… wasn’t bad.
Not amazing. Not perfect.
But real.
And that felt different.
She picked up her guitar again, fingers finding the same simple chords from before.
She sang the line quietly, almost under her breath.
“You’re always there when I don’t know what to say…”
Her voice wavered slightly—but not from nerves.
From something else.
Something more personal.
She swallowed and tried again, a little stronger this time.
“Like you hear the words before they find their way…”
The melody came naturally, like it had been waiting.
She adjusted a note here, stretched a syllable there.
And suddenly—
It clicked.
Not perfectly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Her chest tightened—not in a bad way, but in a way that made her sit up straighter, more focused.
“Oh,” she whispered.
She wrote faster now, the pen moving before she could second-guess it.
You don’t ask for anything, you don’t need a reason
You just stay the same through every changing season
She stopped, staring at the words.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
“Okay… that’s actually kind of good.”
Her fingers moved over the strings again, matching the rhythm to the lyrics.
She sang a little louder now.
A little more sure.
And with each line, the song grew.
Piece by piece.
Moment by moment.
Until she wasn’t thinking anymore.
She was just feeling.
⸻
By the time her mom called her for dinner again—louder this time—Lena had completely lost track of time.
“Lena! Food’s getting cold!”
“Coming!” she called back quickly.
She set the guitar aside reluctantly, glancing at the notebook one more time.
The page wasn’t blank anymore.
Not even close.
It wasn’t perfect—there were crossed-out lines, arrows pointing to rewritten phrases, messy scribbles in the margins.
But it was something.
Her first real something.
She carefully closed the notebook and set it on her desk.
“I’ll come back,” she murmured, almost like a promise.
⸻
Dinner felt slower than usual.
Her parents talked about work, about errands, about things that normally filled the space easily.
But Lena’s mind kept drifting back upstairs.
To the notebook.
To the song.
To the feeling she’d had while writing it.
She barely noticed when her mom asked, “How was school today?”
“Good,” Lena said automatically.
“Anything interesting happen?”
“Not really.”
Her dad smiled. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“Just tired,” she said.
It wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the whole truth either.
Because tired wasn’t the right word.
Restless was closer.
Excited, maybe.
Nervous.
She finished her dinner quickly.
“Can I go back to my room?” she asked.
Her mom nodded. “Homework, right?”
“Yeah,” Lena said.
Close enough.
⸻
Back in her room, she closed the door behind her and immediately grabbed the notebook.
She flipped it open, scanning the lyrics again.
For a second, doubt crept in.
Is this actually good… or did I just think it was?
Her stomach twisted slightly.
There was one way to find out.
She reached for her phone.
Paused.
Then opened her messages.
Noah
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Should I send it?
No.
Yes.
No.
What if he thinks it’s weird?
What if he doesn’t get it?
What if—
She exhaled sharply.
You’re overthinking again.
Instead of texting, she stood up, grabbing her notebook and guitar.
Before she could talk herself out of it—
She left her room.
⸻
The walk to Noah’s house was short.
It always had been.
Just a few blocks, familiar sidewalks, the same houses she’d passed a thousand times.
But tonight, it felt different.
Every step felt heavier.
More intentional.
Like she was carrying something fragile—and important.
When she reached his front door, she hesitated.
Her hand hovered over the doorbell.
“This is stupid,” she whispered.
But she pressed it anyway.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Noah stood there, looking mildly surprised.
“Hey,” he said. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”
“Yeah, um…” Lena shifted her weight awkwardly. “I was just… nearby.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You live five minutes away.”
“Right. Yeah.”
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“You gonna come in, or just stand there being weird?”
She rolled her eyes, relief slipping in.
“Shut up.”
He stepped aside, letting her in.
“Everything okay?” he asked as she walked past him.
“Yeah,” she said. “I just… wanted to show you something.”
“Oh?” he said, following her into the living room. “What is it?”
She turned to face him, suddenly very aware of the notebook in her hands.
“My song.”
He blinked.
“You wrote a song?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“That was fast.”
She shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s probably not that good.”
Noah tilted his head slightly.
“Play it.”
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No buildup.
Just—play it.
Her nerves spiked instantly.
“Right now?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Why not?”
Because this is terrifying, she thought.
But she didn’t say that.
Instead, she nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
They moved to the couch.
Lena sat down, guitar settling into place against her.
Her fingers felt less steady than they had in her room.
Her throat a little tighter.
Because this time—it mattered more.
She glanced up at Noah.
He was watching her, calm as ever.
Waiting.
“Don’t laugh,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“Seriously.”
“I said I won’t.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Okay, but if you do—”
“I won’t,” he repeated.
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
And then—
She started.
The first chord rang out, soft but clear.
Her voice followed, quieter than usual—but steady.
“You’re always there when I don’t know what to say…”
She kept her eyes on the guitar at first.
Safer that way.
Easier.
But as she moved into the next line, she glanced up.
Noah hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t interrupted.
He was just listening.
Really listening.
That helped.
A lot.
Her voice grew stronger as she continued, the melody settling into place just like it had before.
The lyrics flowed.
The rhythm held.
And by the time she reached the chorus, she forgot—just for a moment—that she was nervous at all.
She finished the last line softly, letting the final chord fade into the quiet.
Silence followed.
Lena’s heart pounded.
She looked up.
Noah was still staring at her.
Not smiling.
Not speaking.
Just… looking.
“Well?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
He didn’t answer right away.
And that made her stomach drop.
“Oh my gosh, it’s bad, isn’t it?” she said quickly. “I knew it, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s not bad.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“It’s not bad,” he repeated.
She blinked. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
He leaned back slightly, still watching her.
“Because,” he said slowly, “I didn’t know you could do that.”
Her chest tightened.
“Do what?”
“Write like that.”
She looked down at the notebook, suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s just… stuff.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
She glanced back up.
He was serious.
Completely serious.
“That’s real,” he added. “Like… actually real.”
Something shifted inside her.
Not big.
Not dramatic.
But noticeable.
“Yeah?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
She smiled a little, relief mixing with something warmer.
“Good.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Noah nodded toward the notebook.
“What’s it called?”
Lena froze.
She hadn’t thought about that.
A name.
A title.
Something to define it.
Her mind flickered back to the lyrics.
To the feeling behind them.
To the person who had inspired every word.
Her eyes met Noah’s again.
For a split second, she considered telling him.
Just saying it.
Being honest.
But the words caught in her throat.
Not yet.
“Um…” she looked down, pretending to think. “It doesn’t have a name yet.”
Noah nodded, like that was a perfectly normal answer.
“Fair.”
She closed the notebook slowly, her fingers lingering on the cover.
Because even if she hadn’t said it out loud—
She knew.
Exactly what it was.
And exactly who it was for.
- Writer
