Between Strings and Silence

Chapter One: The Invitation

It started with a text.

Malcolm: "Come thru. Need ur opinion on something."

You stared at your phone for a second longer than you'd like to admit. Malcolm didn't usually ask you to come over. Sure, you hung out in groups, exchanged memes, and occasionally argued over whose playlist deserved aux rights—but this? This was different.

Still, curiosity won. Twenty minutes later, you were on his floor, your legs crossed, staring at the mess that was his room. Posters half-taped to the wall, hoodies in a pile on the chair, and an electric guitar leaning dangerously against his desk.

"Nice place," you said dryly, pushing aside a stray notebook so you didn't sit on it.

He rolled his eyes, crouched by his amp. "Don't roast me. Creative spaces aren't supposed to be clean."

"Oh, so that's what we're calling it? Creative space? Looked more like a laundry graveyard to me."

That got a half-smile out of him. He plugged in the guitar, strummed a chord, then grimaced. "Okay, honest opinion. Does this sound good or does it sound like I'm going through a quarter-life crisis with an instrument?"

He started playing. The sound filled the room—rough at first, then smoother, like he'd wrestled the chaos into something meaningful. You tilted your head, actually impressed.

"It's not crisis energy," you admitted. "It's... cinematic. Like the part of a movie where the character realizes they're in love but can't say it yet."

He blinked. "Cinematic? That's—wow. You're dangerously close to becoming my manager."

"Oh please, I'd fire you after one tour."

"Ruthless."

But he was smiling now, the kind of smile he couldn't hide if he tried. The kind that made your stomach betray you with its little flips.

When he finished the song, silence settled in. The kind of silence that wasn't awkward, just heavy. He fiddled with the tuning pegs. "You always say the right thing at the wrong time," he muttered.

You froze. "Uh... thanks?"

"I mean," he said quickly, "you make everything sound less... complicated. Like you get it before I even explain."

Something in his tone made you wonder if this was really about the music.

You were about to ask when he glanced up, eyes locked on yours. "Stay for a while? I've got other stuff I'm working on."

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I'll stay."

And just like that, the night stretched out ahead of you—music, banter, and something neither of you were ready to name.