CHAPTER 13
1644 Words
Bruno’s Invitation to Harvards Prom
Late at night, as Bruno sat in his small New York apartment close to Campus the email appeared on his laptop screen and began to vibrate.
He nearly ignored it at first. His inbox was generally packed with spam, past-due invoices, and the occasional invitation to a half-full café performance. But when he clicked it open, the words lighted up his world like a fire in the dark:
“Formal Invitation: Harvard University Annual Prom Night.
We request your performance as our featured guest musician.”
Bruno's heart pounded in his chest as he gazed at the luminous text for a long time.
Harvard.
Her school.
As though the air itself had become heavy, his breath caught.
It seemed as if the cosmos itself had reached out and given him a chance that he had assumed had passed him by.
Immediately, her face appeared in his memory.
Catherina.
His Catherina.
He wasn't sure if she'd be there. He wasn't sure if she'd remember him, or if her heart still retained the melody they wrote beneath the trees of their childhood. But the possibility— the mere possibility, was enough to get his heart racing.
Bruno's life changed dramatically in the weeks preceding the performance.
He was already handsome in a gentle, natural way, but now he was getting more attention than ever. He'd grown into his features: tall, broad-shouldered, and thin, with hair that fell in a dark wave across his brow. His strong jawline and intense brown eyes exuded both kindness and intensity, a hazardous combination that caused others to look twice.
In the cafés where he performed, whispers trailed him like a shadow.
“He's really attractive…,he’s so damn hot.
Like a rock star who has been tortured. What if he sang that song only for me?”
As though their pleas could pull them off their feet and into his arms, they screamed.
Girls began showing up not for the coffee, but simply to watch him rehearse. They lingered at the door, giggling nervously and left folded napkins with lipstick-stained phone digits on his guitar bag. A few braver ones even inquired, breathlessly, whether he had a girlfriend.
But Bruno always gave the same faint smile.
"I am already taken. She just does not remember me yet." He responded.
They were perplexed and, at times, disappointed by the answer. But, to him, it was the truth. Every note he played was for a single person. Every line, every chord was a supplication delivered through time and memory:
“Come back to me, Catherina”.
His friends teased him mercilessly.
“You could break half of New York’s hearts if you wanted,” one joked.
Open-mic hosts started calling him the heartbreak guitarist.Despite the temptation, Bruno remained untouchable. His passion was shown in the manner he played.
The Harvard invitation felt like destiny.
This wasn't simply another gig; it was a test. A magnificent moment. Perhaps even fate is giving him one last try.
Night after night, his guitar wept under his touch as he rehearsed until his fingertips blistered and eventually stiffened. The old instrument shone as he polished it. He managed to cobble together enough money to purchase a used black suit that was appropriate for the most exclusive ballroom but overly large at the shoulders.
His heart, however, was restless. He spoke into the darkness as he stared at his tiny apartment's ceiling at night:
"Catherina, if you are there... If you hear me, please remember."
His voice cracked occasionally. There were moments when silence spoke louder than words.
But he didn’t stop.
The gym was a completely different place now. The smooth floors were bathed in golden light from chandeliers that dripped with crystal. A dreamy glow filled the hall as strings of fairy lights glistened like stars. The aroma of roses at each table blended with perfume, and the air was heavy with expectancy and laughter.
Catherina was standing in front of her dorm mirror, fiddling with the silver gown that encased her body. The cloth hugged her in all the right places as it caught the light like liquid moonlight. Pearl clips clattered on her dark hair as it tumbled in gentle waves. She had the appearance of a queen.
But internally, her chest clenched with anxiety.
Junior Cortez arrived at her door wearing a sharp tuxedo and carrying a bunch of blood-red roses. He appeared flawless: tall and muscular, with eyes that burned like obsidian, and a presence that made the room bend around him. And his chaperone stood near the opened door of his limousine behind him.
"For the most beautiful girl at Harvard," he added softly, his grin immaculate and scripted.
She smiled tenderly as she took the flowers. "Thank you, Junior." She said.
Her chest continued to feel heavy, though. As he led her toward the ballroom, his hard touch on her back felt less like a hug and more like a chain. She made herself smile, to be the part that was expected of her. However, something stirred deep within, like a tune haunting the corners of her recollection.
With a guitar case slung over his back, Bruno entered Harvard's campus into the fresh night air. He stopped and stared at the imposing buildings, his breath hazy in the cold.
“She’s here” Bruno muttered loudly in his mind.
The thought nearly buckled his knees.
A coordinator greeted him at the door, smiling and oblivious to the turmoil in his chest.
“Bruno Sanchez? We are honored to have you tonight. You'll perform after dinner, just before the prom king and queen are crowned.” One of the event representatives addressed him.
He nodded mutely, his throat dry.
Inside, chandeliers twinkled and dresses shimmered. The air was filled with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of crystal glasses. Bruno examined the audience with nervous eagerness.
And then— There she was.
Catherina, radiant in silver, seated beside Junior.
His chest tightened. The years passed by in a flash.
She didn't look at him, though. Not quite yet.
As the orchestra played a gentle waltz, Junior embraced Catherina close on the dance floor. His voice sounded smooth against her ear as his hand firmly held her waist.
"Is something wrong?" he inquired, observing her preoccupied stare.
She forced a smile and blinked. "No, just a little distracted." She replied.
"Focus on me," he replied sternly, leaving no space for disagreement. "Tonight is ours." Junior whispered.
But her heart was not listening. Her gaze kept drifting to the stage, which was being prepped. And, faintly, in her chest, a murmur began to stir—a song she couldn't describe but recognized.
Finally, the orchestra went silent. The host moved forward, beaming heartily;
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a very special performance by a rising star whose music has been touching hearts all the way from New York. Let's give an ovation and make welcome... Bruno Sanchez!"
The name meant little to most people. Polite applause followed. But for one girl in silver, the syllables struck like lightning.
Catherina nearly fell as she froze.
Bruno blinked in the flurry of lights as he came onto the stage and adjusted his guitar strap. Then their gazes locked.
His world stopped.
And then he strummed the first chord.
The room fell utterly silent.
The gentle, sad melody unfolded like smoke. Mid-conversation, the students paused and turned in wonder. On the dance floor, couples slowed, their gazes focused on the lad who was putting his heart into the strings.
For Catherina, however, it was a very different matter.
Her heart lurched violently.
That song.
The floodgates of memories swung open. A boy in the summer sun, giggling. Lyrics scrawled by fingers in a battered notepad. Under the stars, a promise was whispered.
Her breath hitched. Tears welled in her eyes.
Bruno maintained an unwavering focus on stage. Each note was a plea. Each lyric contained her name.
Junior felt it instantaneously.
With her whole self pulled to the boy on stage, Catherina relaxed her hold on his arm. His eyes flickered with rage as his jaw tensed.
"What's it?" he growled.
Junior felt a burning sensation in his chest. It was more than just music. It was war.
Long after his hands had stopped, Bruno's last chord continued to echo in every chest and reverberate throughout the hall.
Whistles, applause, and a standing ovation broke out from the crowd.
But Bruno barely heard them.
All he saw was her.
Trembling, Catherina stood and stared at him as if he were a ghost. They never took their eyes off one another. And the brittle barricade in her head broke in that moment.
Her lips parted. A whisper escaped.
“Bruno…”
Junior's expression went blank. Interestingly, his hand clamped down on her arm.
"Sit down, Catherina," he snarled beneath his breath.
But she didn’t.
She took a step forward. Then another.
The audience clapped, unaware. But between the stage and the ballroom floor, two worlds collided: love recalled and possession disputed.
Bruno's heart pounded. Every muscle yearned to jump off the stage , to hold her, and tell her everything.
But in Junior’s dark eyes, he saw the danger.
This wasn’t going to end peacefully.
Tears streamed down Catherina's cheeks as the past smashed into her chest. The music had revealed what fate had sought to conceal, but not fully.
And no matter how firm Junior's grip was, her heart belonged to the boy with the guitar.
After the ovation subsided, there was a thunderous silence.
As the reality sunk into her heart, Catherina, torn between two realities, cringed.
With a smoldering rage, Junior silently resolved that Bruno would not take her away.
But the decision had already been made.
Silent strings of love had come alive.
And they never forget.
- Writer
