Unheard Melodies
1591 Words
Sunday Afternoon,
The sky was a dull gray when she arrived at the cemetery, a heavy silence lingering in the air. It always felt different here—quieter, like time had slowed just enough for her to breathe.
She knelt in front of the headstone, her fingers tracing the engraved letters of her mother’s name.
"Hi, Mom," she whispered.
The words felt small, insignificant. They were never enough to capture everything she wanted to say.
She exhaled shakily, resting her forehead against her knees.
"I miss you," she admitted. "More than anything."
The weight in her chest, the loneliness that never quite left, pressed harder against her ribs.
She wished her mother were still here.
She wished she didn’t have to carry everything alone.
"You tried so hard," she murmured, her voice breaking. "I know you did. I know you wanted to protect me. But it wasn't fair, was it? You had to take on everything. The stress, the pain... It took you away from me."
A lump formed in her throat.
"I wish I could've done something," she continued, her vision blurring. "But I was just a kid. And now—" She let out a humorless laugh. "Now I’m here, still trying to figure out how to live without you."
The first raindrop landed on her skin, followed by another.
She sighed, standing up and pulling her jacket over her head as the drizzle grew heavier.
She spotted a bench with a small overhead cover a few feet away. If she was going to wait out the rain, that was the best place to do it.
But as she walked toward it, the sky rumbled.
Her entire body tensed.
Thunder.
A memory clawed at the back of her mind.
A dark room. A storm raging outside. The sound of a door creaking open. Heavy footsteps. A voice whispering her name.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands over her ears.
No. Not now.
Another crack of thunder split the sky, and she felt her breath quicken.
She needed to breathe. Needed to focus.
But the panic was rising, and she couldn’t stop it.
Then—
Soft music.
The faint melody of a piano, gentle yet powerful.
She felt something warm settle over her ears—headphones.
The music grew clearer.
"When you try your best, but you don't succeed…"
Her breath hitched.
She slowly lowered her hands, her body still trembling.
"When you get what you want, but not what you need…"
She blinked, the world around her shifting as she focused on the song instead of the storm.
She turned slightly, her hands reaching up to touch the headphones.
Someone had put them on her.
Her eyes darted up, searching for whoever it was—
But all she caught was the back of a tall figure dressed in all black, walking away.
He moved quickly, disappearing into a sleek black car parked near the cemetery gates.
And then he was gone.
She stood there, stunned, the rain soaking through her clothes.
The music played on.
It took her a few moments to realize something odd—the headphones weren’t connected to anything.
She pulled them off, her brows furrowing.
That’s when she noticed it.
A phone.
It sat beside her on the bench, as if left there deliberately.
Hesitantly, she picked it up. The screen was dark, locked. No notifications, no name.
Her fingers hovered over it, uncertainty creeping in.
Who was he?
And why had he left this?
The rain eventually stopped, but the questions didn’t.
She made her way back to her apartment, her clothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
After drying off, she sat on her bed, staring at the phone.
She should turn it in.
Or at the very least, try to return it.
But she had no idea who he was.
And for some reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever he was…
He had known she needed saving tonight.
Whoever he was—
She was grateful.
---
The scent of damp earth lingered in the air as he stepped onto the familiar soil of his hometown. It had been years since he last set foot here, yet everything remained eerily the same—the narrow streets, the distant chatter of neighbors, the occasional motorbike passing by.
The town wasn’t grand, nor was it particularly exciting. It was simple, quiet, the kind of place that felt untouched by time.
A nostalgic weight settled in his chest as he walked past the old elementary school. He could still hear the echoes of laughter, the sound of children running across the dusty playground, the faint memory of his mother’s voice calling his name after school.
She used to wait for him by the gates, always wearing that soft, warm smile.
But that was a lifetime ago.
He adjusted the collar of his black coat, exhaling softly.
Everything had changed after she passed away.
---
Daiven Lee, He was eleven when he lost his mother.
One moment, she was there, scolding him for not finishing his vegetables. The next, she was in a hospital bed, her body frail, her skin pale as the life drained from her.
Ovarian cyst, they said. A complication she had ignored for too long.
He was too young to understand it then.
All he knew was that she was gone.
And that his father—who had always been a distant figure in his life—was suddenly there, telling him to pack his things, that he would continue his studies in Singapore.
His father wasn’t a bad man.
He was just… absent.
But despite the physical distance, his father had always made sure he was taken care of—financially, emotionally. Calls every weekend, expensive gifts on his birthday, reassurance that he was loved.
It was enough.
At least, he had convinced himself it was.
---
Singapore was a different world.
His father owned a company there, a life filled with business meetings and elegant suits. His stepmother, a kind and gentle woman, had welcomed him into the family without hesitation.
She treated him as her own, and in time, he had grown to care for her too.
Then his half-sister was born—a bright, curious girl who would follow him around the house, asking endless questions.
It was a new life. A stable life.
But no matter how far he went, his mother’s absence remained an unspoken wound.
And so, every now and then, he found himself returning.
To the town where she had lived.
To the grave where she now rested.
---
He knelt, placing the fresh bouquet of white lilies on her headstone.
"Hey, Mom," he murmured.
The silence stretched between them, unbroken.
He didn’t expect a response.
Yet, for some reason, he still waited.
"You probably wouldn’t recognize me now," he continued after a while. "I’m taller. Smarter, maybe. Still terrible at cooking, though."
He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head.
A part of him wanted to believe she was still here, listening, watching over him.
But the truth was, she was gone.
And no matter how many times he visited, that fact wouldn’t change.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
"I know Dad cared about me," he admitted.
But he knew in his heart that his father never truly loved his mother and that their relationship had been nothing more than a mistake.
He had never said those words out loud before.
But he had always felt them.
His father provided, yes. But love?
Love was staying.
Love was choosing to be there.
And his father hadn’t.
A distant rumble echoed through the sky, pulling him from his thoughts.
Raindrops began to fall, light at first, then steadily growing heavier.
He glanced upward.
It was about to pour.
With one last look at the grave, he stood, pulling his coat tighter around him as he made his way back to the car.
---
The cemetery was empty—except for one person.
A girl.
She sat on a bench, her arms wrapped around herself, her head bowed.
At first, he didn’t think much of it.
But then he noticed her hands.
They were pressed tightly over her ears, her body tense, trembling.
And that’s when he heard it.
The thunder.
She was scared.
Something about the way she curled into herself, the way she was desperately trying to block out the sound—
It reminded him of someone.
Of himself, as a child, drowning in silence, trying to escape grief that felt too big for him to carry.
He hesitated, then reached up, feeling the weight of his headphones around his neck.
It was a simple solution. Temporary.
But maybe… it would help.
Without a second thought, he stepped forward.
Gently, he placed the headphones over her ears.
She flinched slightly, but she didn’t resist.
The music played instantly—Coldplay’s Fix You.
A song about comfort. About healing.
He hoped it was enough.
His eyes flickered to his spare phone. He had always kept two—one for business he rarely use, one for personal use.
There was nothing important on the extra one. Just music.
He placed it beside her.
And then, before she could look up—
He turned and walked away.
By the time she raised her head, he was already slipping into his black car.
He didn’t look back.
But as he drove off, he found himself wondering.
Who was she?
And why did he feel like they were somehow the same?
- Writer
