Invisible Strings

Chapter 3: A Promise Kept in Silence

Silence. Then the faintest laugh, bitter and small. "Easy for you to say. You're... you. I'm just some girl who can't even stay visible long enough to finish a song."

Isadora let her lips curve into a small, sad smile. "Funny," she said softly, "because the girl I heard at that piano was more visible than anyone else in the room."

The shimmering outline stilled at that. Hannah sighed softly, unvanishing and sitting on the end of her bed. Isadora smiled sadly, still, and walked in, sitting next to her. She didn't crowd her, just close enough that Hannah would know she wasn't alone.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet wrapped around them, the kind of quiet that carried weight but not discomfort. Like a cold wind that felt more comforting than it would bring chills to one's exposed skin.

"You really think it was good?" Hannah asked at last, her voice so small, it was nearly swallowed by her dorm room. She twisted the hem of her sleeve between her fingers, eyes fixed on the cold wooden floor.

"I don't just think," Isadora said, tilting her head to catch Hannah's gaze. "I know."

Hannah's lips pressed into a thin line, doubt flickering across her face. "But when I play it, all I hear are the mistakes. The places where it doesn't sound right. The... wrongness of it."

Isadora let out a quiet breath, her tone soft but certain. "Do you know what I hear?" She waited until Hannah's eyes lifted, hesitant, curious despite herself. "I hear a story. Your story. And that makes it worth more than perfect notes on a page."

Hannah's brow furrowed faintly, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. The silence stretched again, her eyes darting away, back to the floor.

Isadora tilted her head, studying her carefully. "Tell me," she said gently. "What does it mean to you? What's the story behind it?"

Hannah's fingers knotted tighter into her sleeve, shoulders curling inward. "I... I don't know," she muttered, though the tremor in her voice said otherwise.

"You do," Isadora coaxed softly, leaning just enough to catch her gaze again. "Maybe you haven't put it into words yet, but it's there. And I want to hear it."

Hannah hesitated, a long moment stretching as though she was balancing on the edge of something dangerous. Finally, she exhaled shakily, her voice a fragile whisper.

"It's about... loving things that don't stay."

Isadora didn't move, didn't breathe too loudly. Just listened.

"When someone cares about something, or someone... but it doesn't last. Not really. It slips away, or fades, or..." her voice caught, and she looked away quickly. "Things... People don't stay... Or even the person running away, vanishing... before anyone can leave them."

The words spilled out, not polished, not rehearsed, but raw and jagged, the way the melody of her piece had sounded when she first played it. Hannah's words lingered in the quiet room, heavy and aching. Isadora knew this was much more than an improvised story in Hannah's head. But her own genuine feelings that she saw for herself.

But instead, Isadora shifted closer, her voice steady. "Hannah," she said softly, "I'm not going to leave you."

Hannah let out a short, sharp breath, almost a laugh, but bitter. She shook her head, her blonde hair falling forward to hide her face. "You say that now."

Isadora blinked, the sound of it hitting her harder than she expected. Not because Hannah didn't believe her, but because she believed so deeply that no one ever could stay.

She reached out, carefully, slowly, resting her hand on the bed between them, close, but not touching. An offering. "I mean it. I'm here. Not just for the music, not just for class. For you."

Hannah's jaw tightened. She didn't look at her, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor. "Everyone says that. At first. And then... they don't." Hannah mumbled quietly and true to her own thoughts.

The words were flat, but beneath them was something raw, unspoken. A history she carried like a shadow.

Isadora's chest ached. She didn't press further, didn't try to argue her way out of it. Instead, she nodded slowly, accepting the weight of it. "Then I'll just have to prove it, won't I?" She said gently.

For the first time, Hannah glanced at her, surprise flickering in her eyes. Not belief, not yet, but something that looked a little like hope. Fragile. Trembling. But hope was always the thing that ended up hurting her the most, even though her heart longed for hope.

"I'm not leaving you, Hannah," Isadora whispered, leaning forward a little to meet her gaze. "You're stuck with me." Isadora smiled cheekily, making Hannah smile faintly.