Chapter 64

  ? The Unfinished Song ?

  The sun had dipped low, painting the streets amber. Noor walked with her violin case tucked close, a vintage bag on her other shoulder, her steps quiet but confident, her head held like she owned the rhythm of the street. She looked like any other child to the casual observer.

  Not to one of the many thieves lurking in the city.

  A man trailed behind, hands in pockets, careful not to break pace but not losing focus. He followed her from the plaza into the middle-class district, where narrow streets spilled into a cluster of restaurants and boutiques. Steam curled from bakery windows. Brass signs glinted off neatly stacked fabrics and polished boots. Men sipped coffee at sidewalk tables, parasols shaded chatting women, carriages rattled past, horses stamping impatiently.

  Noor moved through it all like she belonged yet like she could vanish in an instant. Case at her side, bag over her other shoulder, her steps measured so she disturbed nothing.

  “She carries herself well…” he thought. "Simple dress, clever gait. Probably some minor noble’s daughter. Worth a shot."

  The crowds could have hidden her completely, but he stayed careful—watching, measuring, calculating.

  At a small restaurant near a bakery, Noor slipped inside.

  "I'll wait until she comes out." he thought.

  Yes. He thought.

  Five minutes.

  Nothing.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Ten minutes.

  Still nothing.

  He peered at the front window of the restaurant—no sign of the girl.

  "What the hell? Where did she vanish?"

  He glanced down the side street, crouched, leaned, squinted. Nothing.

  "Maybe she went to the bathroom."

  Twenty minutes.

  His patience frayed.

  He hovered near the doorway, trying to make sense of it, trying to catch a glimpse. Perhaps she had disguised herself? Perhaps she hid behind one of the customers that left earlier? He shook his head in disbelief.

  Thirty minutes. Sweat prickled his brow. He looked left, then right, then behind him. People passed, oblivious. Shopkeepers cleaned windows. A carriage clattered past. And still… nothing. She hadn’t reemerged.

  Finally, his frustration overtook caution. He pushed the door open, peered inside. Tables, chairs, waiters rushing. The restaurant was just a restaurant. No girl, no violin, no hint of Noor. He stepped further in, scanning every corner, checking every nook, muttering to himself, pacing.

  She was gone.

  "What kind of trick did she pull off? Or did she leave the restaurant and I just missed her?"

  "She looked smart. But I thought she didn't notice me. Even if she did... what the hell did she do?"

  Somewhere six, seven streets away, Noor stood calmly in front of the building where she lives, violin case at her shoulder, bag in hand, adjusting her strap.

  What happened?

  She had asked to exit through the backdoor of the restaurant.

  Politely, with her usual grace.

  And that was enough.

  At her building, she climbed the dim staircase alone. She unlocked her door, stepped inside, and shut it with a gentle click before locking it back.

  The entry opened into a narrow corridor that led into a living room with tall windows and heavy wooden shutters. The wallpaper, once elegant, had begun to fade in soft patches. A brass oil lamp sat on a small table beside an overworked armchair, its upholstery repaired more than once with careful stitches.

  Two doors branched from the living room.

  One to her bedroom with an iron-frame bed and a modest wardrobe, the other bedroom was unused. It had scattered sheet music, a simple writing desk, and a cracked mirror propped against the wall. Used almost entirely for music.

  A coal stove stood in the corner of the living room, its heat never quite reaching the far rooms. The wooden floors creaked faintly with every step but remained immaculately clean; Noor kept them brushed and polished herself.

  Everything in the flat was arranged with intentional calm and discipline. The discipline of someone who had grown used to living alone, far younger than she should have been.

  It was a home shaped by restraint, silence, and small, precise habits…

  Minutes later, the girl finished changing into her home clothes: a simple linen shift dress, pale and soft from years of washing, with wool stockings and light indoor slippers.

  She went to check the door of the apartment.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Locked. Properly locked.

  Only then did the shiver run through her.

  Alone.

  Like every day.

  But today, after being followed, the silence of the apartment felt different. Heavy. Close.

  It wasn’t the first time she had slipped away from a thief’s eyes. Not the second. Not the tenth.

  But even so…

  Her mind spiraled, as it sometimes did.

  The thoughts she hated but knew by heart.

  What if I choke on a piece of bread?

  What if there’s a fire and no one hears me?

  What if something happens and I don’t make a sound?

  Who would know? Who would care enough to knock?

  Her breath hitched. Noor wrapped her arms around herself, holding tight, pressing her palms into her sleeves as if to steady her shaking. She tried to swallow the fear, the same fear she kept telling herself she had outgrown... only to have it flare up whenever the world reminded her she was small, alone, and invisible.

  Moments like today were the trigger.

  Moments that stripped her cleverness, her poise, her tricks, leaving only the truth.

  She rushed to the one companion who never failed her.

  The violin.

  Her fingers steadied the wood, her breathing slowly syncing with the feel of it.

  In…

  Out…

  In…

  Out…

  Then she began to play.

  And, like every song she played, it carried a piece of her.

  Seven years ago,

  Right on the same couch, a smaller Noor sat—six years old—flanked by two women.

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  Her mother, Aylin, and a violin tutor.

  The tutor played alongside Noor, bows rising and falling in near-perfect unison. The notes shimmered through the sitting room, gentle and bright, while Aylin watched with a face carved from stillness.

  It was the same song Noor played now, at least the opening of it.

  Then Noor sneezed. The music snapped in half.

  The tutor lowered her bow with a warm laugh. “God bless you, Miss Noor.”

  Noor nodded, inhaling whatever had startled her rhythm. “Thank you.”

  “I think you should rest,” the tutor said, touching her arm. “Today was plenty. You’re remarkable. I can’t believe you play like this at six.”

  Noor’s cheeks warmed—so rare to be spoken to like this—only for Aylin to cut in, cool and precise.

  “She has been practicing since she was three. Of course she would be this good.”

  Noor shrank where she sat, the little glow inside her dimming.

  “That’s not true, ma’am,” the tutor hurried. “She is gifted, but she practices a lot. We could’ve cancelled today, she has a cold. But she insisted.”

  Aylin’s head turned slowly toward her daughter, studying her.

  “Why do you want to play the violin this much, Noor?”

  Noor hesitated.

  Would her answer matter?

  Would it change anything?

  Would her mother—just once—look at her with love?

  “I… heard you play once, Mama,” she said softly. “I want us to play together. You’re really good. I want to catch up to you.”

  Aylin’s expression flickered—just for a heartbeat.

  The words had touched her; they truly had. A tiny warmth broke the cold surface…

  But then her gaze fully settled on Noor—

  on the child who, in some indefinable way, reminded her of a choice she wished she could erase, a chapter of her life she could not look at without feeling that old, bitter twist in her chest.

  And whatever softness had stirred in her hardened again.

  “Forget about it,” she said.

  The sentence hit Noor like a dropped stone.

  The tutor, quick and instinctive, cupped Noor’s cheek with a theatrical gasp. “So you don’t want to play with me anymore, Miss Noor?”

  Noor’s head shot up. “No, no, Miss Rebecca, I love you.”

  Rebecca laughed gently at the clumsy declaration, shielding her from the coldness her mother had shown.

  Then—

  A knock at the door.

  Both women’s faces changed at once.

  Rebecca's smile faltered.

  Aylin went rigid, her spine tightening, breath caught halfway. A faint shiver crossed her features, the kind born from memory and dread rather than the draft in the room. Her fingers curled together in her lap.

  Only the little girl did not flinch.

  Noor’s face smoothed—too smooth for the child she was one second before the knock.

  A practiced mask, the one she hid from her kind tutors so they don't feel unsettled or freaked out.

  An expression far too calm for six years old—an instinct carved from something she was too young to name.

  But the memory dissolved as the melody slipped.

  Noor’s bow stuttered—just a tremor, but enough to make her flinch.

  The fast passage she’d played since she was small suddenly felt wrong under her fingers, as if the strings themselves had shifted.

  She tried again.

  The same snag.

  The sound wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t her.

  A soft, defeated breath left her.

  Carefully, almost apologetically, she lowered the violin and set it back inside its case. Her fingertips lingered on the wood for a moment before she closed the lid.

  Noor crossed to the drawer by the lamp and slid it open, counted the coins inside.

  Copper, a few silver pieces. Her week’s earnings and the chipped remains of months before.

  “Bread… water…” she said to herself out loud, sorting and dividing piles with tiny taps of her finger.

  “I should be able to afford a new one by winter… maybe.”

  She shut the drawer with a gentle push.

  Then she padded toward the kitchenette—dragging over the little pouf she used as a step so she could reach the counter edge.

  Climbing up with practiced ease, she lit the small stove and began chopping carrots with careful, rhythmic cuts.

  The room was quiet now.

  Just the soft simmer of the evening soup,

  and Noor—alone, steadying herself the only way she knew how.

  Next morning,

  By the time the first light slipped over the rooftops, the city looked nothing like the one that had drowned in rain the night before. Fall mornings weren’t supposed to feel like this—warm, bright, almost forgiving—but the sun rose anyway, soft and golden, turning the cobblestones into pale amber and chasing the damp shadows out of the alleys.

  Vendors were only just lifting their shutters. A few milk carts rattled down the street. The city wasn’t awake yet—not properly—but the plaza always stirred before the rest.

  And Noor was already there.

  She crossed the quiet square with her violin case slung over her shoulder, light footsteps echoing against the stone. She reached the fountain—her usual spot—and sat at the edge, smoothing the front of her dress, adjusting her sleeves with precise, habitual motions.

  The water behind her caught the early sunlight, glittering like shards of glass.

  She drew a breath, calm and steady.

  Ready to play.

  Ready for the handful of passersby who drifted through at this hour.

  Ready for the day that, to her, was already beginning with purpose.

  Her fingers brushed the latch of her case.

  Unaware—completely unaware—that today would not be like the others.

  Someone approaching this early was unusual—but the moment she recognized him, she froze.

  What she thought was her first spectator of the morning made her straighten…

  Leo.

  The boy she had waited for.

  The one who never came.

  Her first instinct was to look away.

  Things she wanted had a habit of vanishing when she stared at them too long.

  But she didn't. She chose to look. Because he might vanish if she takes her eyes off him.

  He walked toward her with a steadiness that didn’t belong to the hour, the sunlight catching in his hair, making him look almost unreal after so long.

  When he finally reached her, he raised a hand in a small wave, remaining several paces away—close enough to greet her, far enough that he felt like an onlooker rather than someone entitled to step nearer.

  His hands remained at his sides, open, deliberate—nothing about him assuming the right to be there.

  “Good morning.”

  Noor was still studying him. Only after a heartbeat did her composure soften into the faintest smile.

  “You came…”

  Leo stood before her as someone accepting what he owed.

  “I’m not going to make excuses,” he said quietly. He bowed his head, the gesture simple but sincere.

  “I should have come earlier.”

  The plaza was still empty around them, sunlight warming the stone, making the moment feel strangely suspended.

  “No.” Noor shook her head gently—an elegant, precise motion, full of understanding. Her blonde hair shifted with the movement, catching the sun.

  “You don’t owe me anything. I just… wanted you to come.”

  “If you’re here now,” she said, “then that’s enough for today. For me.”

  She said it as if offering him a place beside her rather than reminding him of the days he hadn’t been there.

  Leo glanced at the violin case on her lap.

  “Is it the same one?”

  It wasn’t the question he meant to ask. But it was the one that came out.

  “Yes,” Noor said, smiling faintly.

  “It’s been with me for years.”

  Then, more quietly,

  “It’s starting to ask for rest.”

  After a moment, his eyes swept over her, calm but attentive.

  “The weather is unpredictable, and people rush home. Do you get enough spectators?”

  Noor sat back, her fingers brushed lightly along the edge of her violin case, a quiet acknowledgment that his concern mattered.

  “Some days are generous, some are quiet. My mother’s old apartment is still under her name, so I’m spared the burden of rent.”

  "But..." She looked up to him. "I still play in the corner that you showed me when it rains. Remember? When we first met?"

  Leo’s voice softened, carrying a rare sincerity. “Yes... Even though I listened to you play only once, It stayed with me.”

  Noor's expression softened, a faint glow touching her features.

  “You told me about a new melody the other day at Doctor Kranz’s place. Could I hear it?” Leo asked.

  Suddenly, Noor's smile faded. Her gaze lowered to the violin case on her lap.

  Her fingers tightened slightly on the leather strap.

  Leo asked, concerned with the expression change.

  “…Is everything alright?”

  Noor drew a slow breath, her voice soft with a trace of repentance.

  “Yes. It’s only that… my violin has grown old.”

  She opened the case with careful hands, as if unveiling something fragile.

  “The melody needs a clean harmonic. Fast finger work. I can’t manage it anymore—not on this one anymore.”

  Her fingertips brushed the worn wood, almost tenderly.

  “Yesterday, during my last song, I heard it. I tried again at night, but… It doesn’t come out right."

  She looked at her companion—the violin, as if she wanted to hug it, kiss it, tell it how thankful she will always be for not leaving her alone.

  "My friend here is unfortunately getting tired.”

  Leo froze.

  A familiar sting struck his chest—late again.

  But Noor was quick to speak, almost as if she sensed the guilt blooming in him and wished to shield him from it.

  “But it’s alright,” she said lightly.

  “I’m saving for a new one. I want to play it for you properly. To say it to you properly.”

  Leo found his voice.

  “If I may…” he began, more formal than before, careful not to intrude.

  “I have some savings. I can maybe help you getting a new one.”

  “Thank you." Noor answered, warmly. "Truly. But you will need them. I believe you’re living without a guardian. Alone. Like me.”

  Leo took a step forward, this time with something steadier than apology.

  “I won’t be a stranger,” he said.

  Noor’s voice was quiet, but carried weight. Almost pleading.

  "You won't disappear again?"

  A shadow of resolve passed over Leo’s face, quiet but absolute.

  "I was busy chasing something else... and I lost sight of what really matters."

  Deep down, he felt a pang of gratitude toward Alex and Dante—who kept him away from what he was thinking of doing.

  "I'm done being that kind of person."

  Noor rested her elbow on her knee and leaned her chin on her hand, eyes narrowing with playful calculation.

  “How often will you visit?”

  Leo stared, caught off guard.

  “Twice… or three times a week?”

  She made a dramatic thinking pose, ridiculously serious.

  Then looked up.

  “No. I want you here twice or three times a day.”

  Leo raised one eyebrow, amused and unsure if this was a joke or a real demand.

  Noor burst into a quiet, contained laugh, flicking her fingers in a playful flourish.

  “I had you,” she said, soft and teasing.

  Leo blinked, then laughed, defeated.

  For him, it was new.

  Other children his age or even a little older were a little stiff around his presence.

  Noor treated him like—

  An equal.

  Someone her age.

  Alex’s words surfaced in his mind, unbidden.

  I believe.

  If Dina were watching—

  If what Alex believed was true—

  She would be happy to see him here, being teased like this.

  The thought made something warm and unfamiliar unfold inside him.

  “If you ever need a pause from the world…" Noor's voice returned, holding his gaze.

  a place where the noise doesn’t reach…

  a melody you can rest beside…

  you’ll find me here.

  I won’t go anywhere.”

  And in that small moment, something eased in his chest.

  A lightness he hadn’t realized he missed.

  For Noor, the moment lingered like the entering autumn sun.

  She couldn’t have asked for a better way to start the day.

  And she hoped—one day—that he would hear her melody as it was meant to be heard, carrying all the quiet words she didn’t yet speak.