part 21 : the stranger with the cello

Fiona arrived in a small town nestled

between the mountains and the sea. It

wasn't famous. It wasn't loud. It was a place

where time moved slower, where the streets

smelled like roasted coffee and saltwater,

and the people smiled like they'd known you

forever.

She found a little stone cottage to rent at

the edge of town, ivy curling around the

windows. No drama, no pressure-just

mornings filled with birdsong and evenings

lit by sunsets that looked hand-painted.

One afternoon, while walking through the

town square, she heard it.

A cello.

Deep, soulful, aching

She followed the sound, drawn like a thread

pulling her forward.

And there he was.

4 man in a black turtleneck, sitting on the

fountain's edge, lost in his music. Dark hair

curled at the nape of his neck, a scar faintly

visible along his jaw. His fingers moved with

a kind of practiced sorrow. A tattoo peeked

out from under his sleeve--something

winged, maybe a phoenix

He opened his eyes as she stood nearby

and they locked,

Something passed between them-quiet

not thunderous

But it wasn't nothing

"Didn't mean to stop you," she said softly.

He gave a slow, amused smile. "You didn't You fit right into the melody.