The Hidden Song

Chapter 5. The Hidden song

The music club’s rehearsal room felt heavier than Takumi had imagined. The glossy piano, the neatly arranged stands, and the faint scent of rosin in the air all whispered of long hours of dedication—of a place that wasn’t his yet.

Takumi tightened his grip on his guitar case as Haruki and Miyuki looked at him expectantly.

“Alright,” Haruki said casually, brushing the piano keys with a light touch. “We’ve got three weeks until the cultural festival, so every practice counts. Ready when you are.”

Miyuki gave a small, encouraging nod, though her sharp eyes carried more weight than her words. “Let’s try the piece from the festival lineup.”

Takumi swallowed hard. His fingers felt stiff, almost foreign, as he adjusted his strap and positioned his hands. He began strumming, joining Haruki’s piano and Miyuki’s violin.

But the sound that came out… was uneven. Hesitant. His timing slipped, his strumming lacked confidence, and more than once he missed the chord progression.

Miyuki’s bow faltered for half a beat, her expression flickering with surprise. Haruki pressed on, but his usual energy dimmed slightly.

When the song ended, silence filled the room.

Takumi lowered his head. “Sorry… I—”

Haruki forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. First time playing together, right? We’ll… adjust.”

Miyuki’s lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes betrayed her disappointment. “It’s fine, Takumi. Just keep practicing with us. It’ll come together.”

They tried again. And again. But even after an hour, Takumi’s rhythm stayed shaky, his chords too soft. The room carried a quiet weight, their harmonies never quite finding each other.

Finally, Haruki glanced at the clock. “We should stop here. Our parents are expecting us tonight.”

Miyuki nodded, carefully placing her violin in its case. “There’s a small gathering at our house. Haruki’s family will be there too.”

“Ah…” Takumi’s voice was low. “Got it.”

As they packed up, Haruki handed him the clubroom key. “We’ll head out first. Lock up when you’re done.”

“Yeah,” Takumi replied, managing a weak smile.

When they left, the quiet rushed back in, almost suffocating. Takumi sat down, staring at his hands.

Why couldn’t I play properly?

Was it just nerves? Or… am I really not good enough to stand beside them?

He thought of Kanae’s words—how she had told him he had grown, how she believed in him. Yet here, in the one place he wanted to belong, his music had faltered.

Takumi pulled his guitar back out, hands trembling slightly. This time, he didn’t try their song. Instead, he played the one closest to his heart—the melody that had always carried him through lonely evenings.

The notes flowed out, soft but strong, weaving through the empty music room. His voice joined the guitar, hesitant at first, then fuller, clearer, brimming with quiet emotion. He set the guitar down for a moment, staring at the empty room. "I can’t stay hidden forever…"

Slowly, he picked up the clubroom key, locked the door behind him, and made his way up the stairwell. The evening air greeted him as he stepped onto the rooftop. The cool breeze brushed his face, ruffling his hair. He sat down, placed the guitar on his lap, and began again—the same melody, now freer, unbound, heartfelt, raw.

Meanwhile, outside the school gates, Miyuki suddenly froze mid-step.

“Wait—Haruki. Do you hear that?”

Haruki tilted his head, frowning. “Hear what?”

“This melody…” Miyuki’s eyes widened, her hand clutching her violin case tighter. “It’s beautiful. Is that… Takumi?”

Haruki raised a brow. “I don’t hear anything, Miyuki.”

“No, it’s coming from the clubroom! I’m sure of it!” she insisted, her voice almost trembling.

Without waiting, she rushed back, Haruki trailing behind reluctantly. But when they reached the music room, the lights were off. The door was locked. Silence greeted them.

Haruki exhaled, shaking his head. “See? No one’s here. You’re imagining things. I get that you’re desperate—we need a guitarist, I know—but Takumi…” He hesitated. “I don’t know… maybe we were expecting too much. Still… he’s better than someone who knows nothing about music.”

Miyuki stood there, staring at the closed door. Her chest tightened. For a fleeting moment, she had been certain—certain she’d heard something real. Something that tugged at her heart.

Then still in doubt she walked past the club and reached the stairwell. Miyuki placed her hand on the rooftop door’s handle — but Haruki’s voice stopped her.

“Miyuki… come on. We’re already late.”

She hesitated. Then let go.

“…Maybe I really imagined it,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.

Haruki gently tugged her shoulder. “Come on. Our parents are waiting.”

With one last glance at the door, Miyuki finally nodded and walked with him.

Up above, hidden on the rooftop, Takumi quietly packed his guitar back into its case. Through the railing, he spotted Haruki and Miyuki leaving together, side by side, laughing lightly about something.

The sound of their voices carried easily in the cool evening air.

Takumi gripped his case tighter. His song, the one piece of himself he had let out, had vanished into the air unheard. His heart ached—not only from the silence, but from watching them walk away, radiant in a world that seemed to have no space for him.

No matter how hard I try… maybe I’ll always just be a shadow, watching from the edges.

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