Chapter 2: The Boy Who Sees Music in Color

A World of Color

Aika sat frozen, her breath caught in her throat.

The music poured from Riku's fingers like a whisper woven into the air, delicate yet filled with something indescribable. And in her mind—impossible as it seemed—colors bloomed.

Gold rippled outward, warm and fluid like morning sunlight spreading across the ocean. Deep blue curled at the edges, dipping into strokes of violet, shifting with each note. The melody was soft yet insistent, like the bittersweet memory of a distant summer.

It wrapped around her, seeped into her chest.

For the first time, she wasn't just hearing music—she was feeling it. Seeing it.

And just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

The colors vanished.

The final note lingered in the air, fading into silence. Aika's heart pounded as she stared at the piano, almost dizzy.

"What… was that?" she whispered, her voice unsteady.

Riku turned lazily, propping his elbow on the piano and resting his chin on his hand. A knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

"So?" he asked. "What did you see?"

Aika's throat felt dry. She wanted to deny it, to convince herself that she had imagined it. But the memory of gold and blue still flickered in her mind, as vivid as the paint she worked with every day.

Slowly, she murmured, "Blue. And gold."

Riku's smirk widened. "Not bad."

Aika's fingers clenched around her skirt. "You're not… surprised?"

"Why would I be?" He stretched his arms lazily. "Music has colors. You just never noticed them before."

Aika stared at him.

Music had… colors?

It sounded absurd.

Riku seemed to read her thoughts because he leaned forward slightly, tapping the edge of the piano. "You've never heard of synesthesia?"

She shook her head.

"Hmm…" He pressed a single key, letting the sound ring out. "It's when your senses get mixed up. I hear sounds, but my brain turns them into colors. It's not magic or anything. Just how I'm wired."

Aika blinked. "So… you actually see my voice?"

Riku grinned. "Yep."

She hesitated. "What color is it?"

He studied her for a long moment, his golden-brown eyes sharp and thoughtful.

"Soft gray," he said finally. "Like a rainy sky. But when you're curious—" he smirked, tapping his temple, "—it turns blue."

Aika's cheeks warmed. The idea of someone seeing her voice felt strangely intimate.

She cleared her throat. "And my painting?"

Riku leaned back, considering. "It's good. But it's like a song played perfectly with no feeling."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

Aika's fingers tensed. She had heard that before. From Professor Kondo. From other teachers. From herself.

Seeing her reaction, Riku chuckled. "That's why I told you to paint without thinking."

"But—"

"Just try it." He tilted his head. "Close your eyes. Listen to the music. Then let your hands do the rest."

Aika frowned. "That sounds ridiculous."

"Yeah?" Riku stretched his arms. "So is copying landscapes from real life and expecting them to have emotions."

Her breath caught.

That stung. Because it was true.

Riku smirked, clearly knowing he had struck a nerve. "So? Wanna try it or not?"

Aika bit her lip.

Her mind screamed at her to say no. She had spent years perfecting her technique, carefully refining her brushstrokes, learning every rule. Art had always been about precision. About control.

But then she remembered the music.

The way it made colors dance in her mind. The way it stirred something deep inside her.

And she realized—she wanted to understand it.

Slowly, she nodded. "I'll try."

Riku grinned. "Good. Let's make some colors, Art Girl."

And with that, he placed his fingers on the keys again.

The Unfinished Painting

By the time Aika returned home, the city was bathed in deep navy blue, speckled with the golden glow of streetlights. She clutched her sketchbook against her chest, her mind a tangled mess of thoughts.

Synesthesia. Colors in music. Painting without thinking.

It all felt surreal. And yet, she couldn't shake the memory of those golden ripples, the deep blue swirls.

Stepping into her room, she flicked on the light and let out a long breath. Her usual paintings lined the walls—landscapes, still-life studies, beautifully detailed but painfully empty.

Her gaze drifted to the blank canvas on her desk.

She sat down slowly, running her fingers over the smooth surface.

Riku had told her to just feel.

Could she do that?

She dipped her brush into blue paint, hovering over the canvas.

What did that song feel like?

She closed her eyes.

She remembered the way the melody curled around her, soft and melancholic. She thought of the warmth beneath it, the way it lingered like a fading memory.

And then—she moved.

Her brush swept across the canvas in a bold, unplanned stroke. Then another. Then another.

Deep blue bled into gold, shifting, blending—no outlines, no precise shapes, just movement, just emotion. It was raw. Messy.

And for the first time in her life—

It was hers.

Her chest ached, but not in a bad way.

Aika sat back, breathless.

The painting wasn't perfect. It wasn't planned.

But looking at it… she felt something.

A slow, hesitant smile formed on her lips.

Maybe Riku was onto something after all.