Twenty-Six Doors

CHAPTER 10

“There is nothing permanent except change.” - Heraclitus

After finishing their food, Emil took Alba’s hand and placed her cane gently in the other. He led her over to the candyfloss stall and got a massive one—the kind that looked like sunset clouds, all soft and sugary, catching the last bit of light. They shared it as they strolled back to campus, fingers sticky, laughter light.

“I’m just nipping to my room to wash my hands,” Alba said as they reached the building. “They feel all sticky from

the sugar.”

Emil nodded, his voice steady though his chest was anything but.

“I’m gonna grab my sax,” he said, then hesitated. For a fleeting moment, he considered inviting her to his room—the thought flickered, tempting—but he dismissed it. Not yet. Not like that. He didn’t want her to misread the gesture. Despite the whirlwind of desire that tugged at him, he knew it wasn’t the right time. “I’ll come get you in a few,” he added, trying to sound casual. “Fancy heading to the common room?”

“Yeah, wicked!”

Alba closed her door behind her and slid down to the floor, her back pressed against the wood. A sigh escaped her lips, soft and full. The memory of Emil’s kiss swirled in her mind, still burning on her lips like a gentle fire she didn’t want to extinguish. She got up slowly, counting her steps to the bathroom, and washed her hands. The water rinsed away the sugar, but not the longing.

Meanwhile, Emil leaned against his own door, heart hammering. He wasn’t inexperienced—twenty-four, a handful of relationships behind him—but nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever made him feel so raw, so exposed—like she’d peeled him back without even trying. That weird kind of vulnerability, the sort you don’t clock ‘til it’s already got you.

He paced the room, touching things without seeing them, his mind tangled in thoughts of her. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands over his face. How had he not noticed her before? Twenty-six doors apart.

Same corridor. That bold, fiery ginger mane. Her looks, her voice, the way she carried herself—proper hard to miss. But he’d managed it, somehow.

He shook his head, stood with purpose, washed his hands and face, grabbed his saxophone, slung it over his shoulder, and opened the door—only to find her standing there, fist raised, ready to knock.

“Twenty-six doors,” she said, broad smiling—and that smile lit up the entire corridor.

Emil’s heart skipped, he felt all fizzy inside. He adjusted the strap of his sax, took her face in both hands, and he kissed her slow—gentle, but with something real behind it. Like it wasn’t a choice, but a need he couldn’t shake. Timidity bloomed in Alba’s cheeks, a soft blush that enchanted him. She tilted her head, fiddling with her sleeves, trying to hide her face. Insecurity wrapped around her like mist, but Emil’s warmth cut through it.

He closed his door quietly, took her free hand, and together they walked down the corridor towards the common room.

The lights were off, but it made no difference to Alba. Emil reached out, fumbling along the wall until he found the switch.

The space was relaxed, casual—computers in one corner, bookshelves lining the walls, beanbags scattered like confetti, a large L-shaped sofa, and individual armchairs offering pockets of privacy. A long industrial-style table anchored the room, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Rugs with bold designs framed the chaos.

He frowned slightly, concern flickering across his face. And then it hit him: how difficult it must be for her to manage in all that chaos.

“Are you comfortable moving around here?” he asked.

“Nah,” she replied, shaking her head. “The rugs, the beanbags, and those armchairs that keep shifting—they’re a proper pain.”

Emil made a silent promise to himself: he’d speak to someone about the rugs. He didn’t know what to do about the rest, but he’d find a way.

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you. Shall we sit on the big sofa?”

“Yeah, anywhere’s fine.”

She held his hand as he led her to the L-shaped sofa. He turned on the lamp beside it, then switched off the harsh ceiling lights, bathing the room in a softer glow.

He’d already decided: once seated, saxophone in hand, he’d turn off the lamp too—to feel the music the way Alba did. To step into her world.

He settled beside her, picked up the instrument, and approached the switch with a hesitant hand.

“Alba…” he said, barely above a whisper. “If I told you I wanted to play in the dark—eyes shut, just feeling it, like you do… would you think I’d lost the plot?”

Alba turned towards him, giggled gently, and replied without hesitation.

“Nah, not at all.” She flicks her hand casually, like brushing off a worry, and tilts her head with a cheeky grin. “Go on then—give it a whirl. You might just love it.”

With a soft click, the lamp went out. Darkness wrapped around them. Emil picked up his saxophone. The first notes were shaky, his fingers unsure in the absence of light.

“It’s… it’s different,” he murmured, wonder in his voice.

“Yeah, it is,” Alba said, sinking into the sofa, her body loose, her senses quietly switched on. “For me, music’s light. It cuts through the dark—it’s how I see.”

Emil stood, closed his eyes, and let the darkness take him. Mouthpiece to lips, he began to play Stand by Me.

The first notes wavered, then steadied, flowing into a melody that filled the room like breath. In the absence of sight, his other senses sharpened. The music became his guide, his light.

He felt everything—the cold metal of the sax, the shift in the air, the echo of each note. It was liberating. Vulnerable. Honest.

Alba was immersed in the sound. For her, music was more than simple notes—it was emotion, memory, beauty. It moved through her, filled her, lifted her. Tears welled up, not from sadness, but from the sheer fullness of it all.

Emil’s final note lingered, then faded into silence.

A soft sound reached his ears—Alba, sniffling.

Panic fluttered in his chest. He fumbled for the switch, fingers trembling, and finally the lamp flickered on, casting a warm glow across the room.

Alba sat on the sofa, tears streaking her cheeks, eyes bright and rimmed with red. Emil approached, heart thudding.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, concern threading through every syllable.

She wiped her tears with both palms, a trembling smile on her lips.

“I’m more than alright,” she sniffed. “They’re tears of emotion. I’m a right crybaby.”

Emil exhaled, sat beside her, and handed her a napkin from his pocket.

“Stand by Me”, she whispered, her voice serene despite the tears. “The way you played it… it felt like a hug. Well lush, Emi. Cheers.”

Emil’s heart swelled.

“I’m chuffed. Proper chuffed. In the dark, every sound feels more intense, more personal. It’s totally different—like your whole body gets sensitive.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant before. Your other senses get alert. But was it bad for you?”

“Nah, not at all. I’d say it was better. Hard at first, yes, but then I just let go. I dunno how to explain it in words, but I’m sure you get it.”

Alba nodded, her smile soft, understanding etched into her features.

Just then, the door creaked open. A figure stepped into the room—Professor August. His presence filled the space, calm and commanding.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. His eyes landed on the lad, and a smile tugged at his lips. “Emil, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Professor. Good evening.”

“An exceptional performance. Stand by Me—very moving. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Emil replied, pride and humility mingling in his voice.

Alba turned her face towards the source of the voice, her expression a delicate blend of surprise and respect.

“Professor August,” she murmured, her tone laced with the quiet reverence she held for him. And like a spark catching dry wood, the memory of her forgotten commitment ignited in her mind.

The professor nodded, his soft “aha” carrying both understanding and gentle reproach.

“We had a practice scheduled, remember?”

Alba sprang to her feet, the weight of her oversight crashing down on her. Her cheeks flushed with shame.

“Sorry, Prof,” she said, her voice sincere and tinged with regret. “It totally slipped my mind… I thought I’d set a notification, but it seems I didn’t.”

She reached out, fumbling for her cane. Emil, sensing the urgency in her movements, spotted it lying beside him and placed it gently in her hand. She acknowledged him with a grateful nod.

“I understand you were very focused,” August said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Alba blushed deeper, gripping the cane tightly, her fingers tense around the handle.

“I’m gonna… I have to go. Sorry, Emi, it slipped my mind and…”

“Don’t worry, go easy,” Emil interrupted, his voice soft, reassuring.

“Thanks. See you later, yeah?” she said, though her tone carried the quiet ache of parting and the weight of responsability.

Professor August watched the exchange, his gaze flicking between the two young musicians. A part of him wanted to invite Emil to join them—music was, after all, a bridge between souls. But another part, the mentor, the guardian of discipline, knew the stakes. The concert was near. Alba needed to focus.

The decision pressed against him like a stone in his chest. Was it fair to prioritise discipline over connection? To choose excellence over emotion? The balance wavered in his mind, each thought pulling in a different direction.

With an almost imperceptible sigh, he made his choice. Music demanded sacrifices. And tonight, Alba’s artistic growth had to come first. Emil would understand. It

wasn’t personal. It was simply what had to be.

“We’ve got bags of time,” Emil said, slipping the words out with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

August gave a soft nod, then turned towards the exit, Alba following beside him. The boy stood in the centre of the room, the saxophone still warm in his hands, listening to the familiar tap of Alba’s cane echo down the corridor.

He scratched his head, the surrounding silence suddenly louder than before. Should he go back to his room? Put the telly on? Or just sit here, in the hush that remained, doing nothing at all? The music had stopped. But something inside him

hadn’t.