Chapter 4: Who is that person that I’m trying to recall?
3rd pov :
Ha Jun walked home, taking the longest route possible as he did not want to get home yet. Zoning out, his thoughts drifted back to what happened at school. He started to recall how he was amazed by the atmosphere.He started to recall how he was late to school on the first day.As he thought about Lilia, he reached his home. Ha Jun thought he found Lilia very familiar like as if he had met her before.Trying his best to recall who she was, a sharp pain seared through his head making him shriek in pain. Frequent headaches every now and then weren't a big deal since he had gotten the brain surgery 11 years ago. The only bizarre thing was that since the surgery, none of his pains were caused by any triggers like objects, humans etc.Luckily, his father wasn't home or he would have asked many questions. Ha Jun decided to call his family doctor later.
Lilia pov:
Reaching home, I made a beeline to my room and just fell on the bed.My back to the ceiling, my mind filled with thoughts, I listened to the constant hum of the rickety, old fan that made more noise than wind.It was oddly comforting compared to today's events. Never feeling this exhausted, I felt my consciousness ebbing away, my thoughts , clear and concise compared to a few moments ago, coming to an end. My eyelids grew heavy, my breathing became shallow but loud as ever in sync with the whirring of the fan. I gave in to the comfortable despair - exhaustion, as it lulled me to sleep.
Hours later, I woke up. Walking into the hall, I spotted a sticky-note saying, "I have to go for a business trip. I will return tomorrow afternoon.Look after yourself and finish the assessments I have assigned to you.If you are hungry, heat-up today's dinner or order in.-Mum."Reading the note, I involuntarily sighed.I may be diligent in front of my mum but right now I just wanted to relax and be me.Be what I am good at.I went to the room that we rarely opened.Before my father had left us, he always taught me how to play the guitar every evening after he came back from work. My mum would sit at the bean bag and hum along to the tune of the song we played. We would sing our heart out as we played different songs. Dad's passion was guitar and it soon became mine too.
3rd pov:
Unzipping the bag, she grabbed the guitar and admired its beauty. The guitar though old, was still in a good condition. The strings felt cold to her touch but as she strummed the strings , warm memories came rushing back as she reminisced them.She started playing one of her favourite songs , the first song that her Dad taught her.As she strummed, she felt a electrifying "spark" in her veins-that one that her mother always tried to dim. Though she was playing the guitar on her own, she felt as if she was playing with a band with a whole audience to see her shine.
She could imagine the background music of the song coming to live, along with the guitar.She could feel her heartbeat falling in line with the rhythm of the drums, the soft but high trilling of the piano keys in sync with the delicate vocals of her. With the lyrics playing over in her mind, and the guitar etching its melody in the walls of her soul, she finally understood.
That guitar wasn't her passion. Music was.It was an escape-the breezy , safe haven in her trapped and suffocating life.She could forget about her grades. About her assessments that her mom assigned.The mock-assessments.The red, glaring ticks or crosses on her paper.She could forget about all that as the only thing that mattered to her for that period of time was her passion.Her true self.
She understood that music wasn't only with her during the good times.It was always there-in the bright days, the stormy weather.She realised and finally understood what her father had said, "Every song has a memory, every verse an affection, every chorus an attachment, every melody a dance through time that diffuses into your core."
Feeling content, she put back the guitar in its place.Just then she saw a photo fall out."I still have this photo!" She exclaimed as she held the photo tenderly which contained 2 children.She recognised herself and next to her was a boy wearing a silver ring that had the initials -P.H on it.She had forgotten what his name was but still had vague memories of that trip 12 years ago.
Walking into her room, she placed that photo on her nightstand and slept as it was already night.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Roopa_sree
Roopa_sree Every song has a memory, every verse an affection, every chorus an attachment, every melody a dance through time that diffuses into your core."-I have actually used this sentence from a book that was a compilation of stories.I don't know the author but I would like to give the credit to them as I was inspired by their language expression for some of the music related paras, especially this sentence.I have used their structure of writing for the music related paras and to escribe the heartbeat and pounding of the drums I have only changed certain words.Hope you like my book!:)
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