LYRICS BETWEEN THE LINE
1251 Words
CHAPTER 03
The next day, Ava arrived at the auditorium ten minutes early, which was becoming a habit she both resented and secretly anticipated. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, her music folder tucked safely inside. She hadn’t stopped thinking about their rehearsal from the night before—the way Logan’s voice had woven into hers, the feel of his fingers brushing hers when he handed her that guitar pick.
That stupid little guitar pick.
She’d slept with it tucked under her pillow.
Get a grip, Ava.
She pushed open the auditorium doors, expecting the room to be empty. But there he was again—Logan—already on stage, legs casually propped up on the piano bench, strumming his acoustic guitar. A different one this time. Cherry wood, sleek, with a golden pickguard that caught the light streaming through the high windows. He looked up as she entered and gave her that crooked smile she was starting to dread how much she liked.
“You’re early,” she said, arching a brow.
“So are you.”
“I thought rockstars don’t do mornings.”
“I make exceptions,” he said, plucking a few lazy notes from the strings. “Especially for girls who sing like heartbreak and sunlight.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed her with a smile. “Do you always show off with a different guitar every day?”
He smirked. “Only when I’m trying to impress someone.”
“Who says I’m impressed?”
“Your eyes did a little sparkle when I hit that G chord.”
Ava walked toward the stage, carefully setting her bag down and pulling out her lyrics. “That wasn’t sparkle. That was eye strain.”
He chuckled and patted the space beside him on the piano bench. “Come on, songbird. Let’s make some magic.”
They ran the duet again, this time with fewer stops. It flowed smoother now, like muscle memory stitched with instinct. They moved in sync—notes rising and falling in perfect coordination. Logan played softer today, letting her voice lead, but when he came in, he added a layer of depth that made her skin tingle.
They were creating something beautiful, and they both knew it.
“Let’s try that chorus again,” Ava said, catching her breath between verses. “I think we can build the harmony more.”
Logan nodded and adjusted the capo on his guitar. “Tell me what you’re hearing.”
She hummed the part she had in mind, and he mirrored it effortlessly. Their voices collided again, and this time when they hit the final note, it hung in the air like a heartbeat too long.
A beat of silence followed, thick and golden.
Then Logan spoke, quiet and curious.
“Can I ask you something?”
Ava blinked. “Sure.”
“What made you start singing?”
The question caught her off guard. She’d been asked it before—by teachers, by classmates—but never like this. Never in a quiet moment, with someone genuinely listening.
She looked down at the stage floor, her fingers smoothing out a wrinkle in the paper on her lap.
“I grew up in church,” she said slowly. “Singing was… comfort. A way to escape. My mom died when I was little, and music became this… safe place. I didn’t have much else.”
Logan’s expression softened, his playful mask slipping just a little.
“Is that how you ended up here?” he asked.
She nodded. “Our church pastor helped get me the scholarship. Said it’d be a waste not to share my gift.”
He was quiet for a beat, then said, “It’s not a gift. It’s a superpower.”
Ava laughed, her voice softer now. “You really have a way with words.”
“I try.”
She hesitated, then threw the question back at him. “What about you? Why music?”
Logan leaned back, plucking at the strings. “My dad wanted me to take over the family company. You know—suits, business meetings, mergers. But music was the one thing that was mine. No rules. No expectations.”
She watched him, something clicking into place. The wild, untamed energy. The chaos he cloaked himself in. It wasn’t just rebellion—it was survival.
“Do they know you’re here?” she asked gently.
“They know,” he said after a pause. “They just don’t care. My mom’s too busy playing hostess to whatever politician’s wife is in town. And my dad… well, he thinks music is a phase. A distraction.”
Ava’s chest tightened. She wanted to say something, offer something—but words felt useless.
So instead, she said, “Let’s rehearse the bridge again.”
They practiced late into the afternoon, tweaking harmonies, trying new vocal runs, and getting lost in the music. Every moment with him felt like falling deeper into something she didn’t quite understand. At one point, Ava stumbled on a high note, wincing as her voice cracked.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “That sounded like a dying squirrel.”
Logan laughed. “A very cute, pitchy squirrel.”
She shoved his shoulder. “You’re not funny.”
“I think I’m hilarious.”
They collapsed onto the floor, breathless from laughter. For a moment, they just lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling dotted with tiny imitation stars. The auditorium had an old-school charm, with wooden beams and a ceiling painted like a galaxy. It was quiet here, removed from the world outside.
“You know,” Logan said after a while, voice quieter now, “this is the first time in a long time I feel like I can just… be myself.”
Ava turned her head to look at him. He wasn’t smiling now. His expression was raw, vulnerable.
“You don’t have to pretend around me, Logan,” she said. “I see you.”
He looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
“I’m not sure anyone ever really has,” he whispered.
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was full of unsaid things, of slow understanding.
They rehearsed once more before leaving, this time with less teasing, and more focus. As Ava packed up, Logan walked her to the auditorium exit again, his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Hey,” he said, just before she stepped outside.
“Yeah?”
“Want to hang out tomorrow? Not for rehearsal. Just… hang out.”
Ava hesitated. Every instinct told her to say no. To protect herself.
But the look on his face was unguarded. Honest. And her heart—the stupid thing—was already halfway in.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Sure.”
As she stepped out into the early evening air, a breeze tousling her hair, she felt something shift. Like the world had nudged itself a little off-axis. She could still hear the echo of their voices, their song lingering in her mind.
She walked the path back to the dorms slowly, her heart buzzing in her chest. It wasn’t just the music. It was him. The way he looked at her. The way he listened.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because Ava Sinclair had promised herself not to fall.
But she was starting to wonder if the fall had already begun.
- Writer
