Between Strings and Silence

Chapter Seven: Strings and Sparks

The next few weeks were... interesting.

Malcolm started showing up more—at your dorm, at the record store, even at random late-night practice sessions. But every time things got too comfortable, he'd do something impossibly infuriating, like:
• Borrowing your headphones and playing a song he knew would make you blush.
• Winking at you mid-strum like he knew exactly what effect it had.
• Leaving cryptic Post-It notes with half-written lyrics in your notebook.

Today's offense: the "practice duel."

"Bet you can't play this riff perfectly," he challenged, smirking as he handed you his guitar.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, it's on, Todd."

For ten minutes, it was war—fingers fumbling, strings buzzing, both of you laughing and groaning at missed notes. Then, suddenly, he leaned in, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

"Okay," he said, voice low. "Maybe... maybe you are better than me."

Your heart did the thing. "Maybe I just let you think that."

He chuckled, but the moment didn't end. His hand hovered near yours on the fretboard—intentional, teasing, full of something you couldn't name.

"Malcolm," you breathed, "stop messing with me."

"I'm not," he said, eyes dark, teasing, magnetic. "I'm just... reminding you that I exist. And that I like... this."

"Like what?" you asked, voice catching.

"This," he whispered, leaning just a little closer. Then, a shadow of doubt crossed his face. "Wait—did I say that out loud?"

"Maybe," you said, grinning. "Or maybe I just heard what I wanted to hear."

He groaned dramatically, tugging at his hair. "You're impossible. And I... okay, fine, maybe I do like this. Like... like you."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," he countered.

"Maybe I do," you admitted, your chest tightening with a mix of laughter, nerves, and something warmer.

For a few minutes, you just played—fingers touching, eyes locked, the guitar riff turning into something else entirely: a rhythm that belonged only to the two of you.

And somewhere between the buzzing strings and sparks in his eyes, it became clear: the slow burn wasn't slowing down anymore—it was finally catching fire.