Darian's POV
I get home and toss my keys onto the counter.
The sound echoes in the silence, like the way she looked at me—or didn’t look at me—during rehearsal. I drop onto the couch and stare at the ceiling, bass still buzzing in my fingers. Everyone else laughed, joked, made plans for drinks. Serenya packed up fast, head down, quiet. Not even a goodbye.
I tell myself it’s fine. We were both tired. We’ve been through worse silences before. But the truth sits heavy. She’s never shut me out completely, not even when things got tense. Today felt different. Distant.
I reach for the remote, flip through channels. A band interview, a car commercial, a music show rerun. Useless noise. Every time someone plays a piano, I tense. Every melody sounds like hers. That mix of precision and fire—ho
