Tangled Strings

Chapter 16: Different

The sound of guitar strings echoed through the practice room, the notes sharp and precise, yet carrying a weight that only those who truly listened could feel. Chiquita sat on the edge of the worn-out leather couch, her fingers moving effortlessly over the fretboard of her electric guitar. The music surrounded her, filling every crevice of the room, but for once, it wasn’t for anyone else—it was for her.

Her bandmates, Rora, Ruka, and Asa, watched in quiet awe. It had been a long time since Chiquita played like this, fully immersed, lost in the music as if nothing else existed. She didn’t look up, didn’t seek approval or reaction. She was playing for herself, her own emotions spilling through every note.

Rora sat on the floor, tuning her own guitar, but her eyes kept flicking up to Chiquita. There was something different about her—something heavy yet strangely freeing. Asa, seated behind the drum kit, tapped the drumsticks against her knee, observing the shift in the atmosphere. Even Ruka, who normally cracked jokes to lighten the mood, stayed silent.

It had been a few days since Chiquita’s final encounter with Ahyeon, and everyone could sense the change. She wasn’t sulking or chasing after stolen glances anymore. She wasn’t lingering in the hallways, waiting for Ahyeon to acknowledge her.

She was done.

And that, more than anything, made Ahyeon restless.

—

Ahyeon sat in the student council office, her pen hovering over a document she was supposed to be reviewing. But she hadn’t written a single word. Her mind was elsewhere, or rather, on someone else.

She had expected Chiquita to be upset, to try again, to push back like she always did. Chiquita never gave up so easily. She always smiled, always found a way to worm herself back into Ahyeon’s space, no matter how coldly she was pushed away.

But this time, she hadn’t.

Chiquita hadn’t spoken to her since that moment in the courtyard. She hadn’t looked in her direction, hadn’t acknowledged her presence, hadn’t even seemed to care that she existed at all. It was unnatural. It was… wrong.

Ahyeon’s fingers tightened around the pen, her jaw clenching as she thought back to the way Chiquita had smiled before walking away. That smile wasn’t bitter, wasn’t angry—it was final.

She should have felt relieved.

Then why did it feel like something inside her was unraveling?

"Vice President?" Pharita’s voice cut through her thoughts, and Ahyeon blinked, realizing she had been staring at the same document for several minutes.

"Hm?"

Pharita raised an eyebrow. "You seem distracted. Something wrong?"

Ahyeon straightened, shaking her head. "No. Just… thinking."

"About?"

Ahyeon hesitated. She wasn’t about to admit it, not even to herself. "Nothing important," she muttered before turning back to her work, forcing herself to focus.

But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept circling back to the same thought—

Where was Chiquita?

—

Chiquita spent the next few days drowning herself in music. Every spare moment was spent in the practice room, in her bedroom, or on the rooftop of the school, playing until her fingers ached.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t chasing after Ahyeon’s attention. She wasn’t lingering in places where she might run into her. She wasn’t waiting for something that was never going to come.

Instead, she threw herself into Baemon, into her passion. Music had always been her escape, but now, it was more than that. It was her proof—her way of reminding herself that she existed outside of Ahyeon.

She hadn’t realized just how much of herself she had lost in the chase until she finally stopped running.

During lunch, she sat with her bandmates, laughing at Ruka’s dumb jokes and playfully stealing fries from Asa’s tray. She walked through the halls with a new kind of confidence, her guitar slung over her back as she chatted with students who weren’t Ahyeon.

And people noticed.

Including Ahyeon.

—

Ahyeon had never been the type to linger in the courtyard after school, but lately, she found herself stopping just outside the practice room where Baemon rehearsed. She told herself it was just coincidence, that she was simply passing by on her way to the parking lot.

But deep down, she knew better.

She could hear Chiquita’s voice through the slightly open door, light and carefree as she joked with Rora. The sound of her laughter was different—no longer tinged with the quiet desperation it used to carry when she was around Ahyeon.

It was free.

Ahyeon’s grip on the strap of her bag tightened.

She wasn’t sure why she was still standing here. Why she kept looking. Why her chest felt heavy every time she saw Chiquita smile at someone who wasn’t her.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t.

…Then why was it bothering her this much?

—

That evening, Baemon had another gig at a small underground venue just outside the city. The place was packed, students and locals alike filling the space, the air buzzing with energy.

Chiquita stood at the edge of the stage, her guitar strap slung over her shoulder, the neon lights casting sharp shadows across her face. The crowd was cheering, waiting for the next song, but her eyes landed on something—or rather, someone—near the back of the venue.

Ahyeon.

Chiquita wasn’t sure why she was here. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe—just maybe—Ahyeon wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Chiquita turned back to the microphone, her lips curling into a smirk as she stepped closer, gripping the stand.

"This next song is called 'Never Yours'," she announced, her voice smooth yet sharp with something unspoken. "Hope you like it."

The band kicked in, the heavy strumming of guitars vibrating through the floor, and Chiquita closed her eyes as she sang.

She poured everything into the song—every ache, every moment wasted on someone who never saw her, every second spent waiting for something that was never hers to begin with.

And as her voice carried through the venue, Ahyeon felt it—the sting, the weight, the undeniable truth in every word.

For the first time since Chiquita had walked away…

Ahyeon wished she hadn’t.