The amplifier hummed in the corner of the dimly lit studio, its tubes glowing amber like whiskey in crystal. Sarah's fingers found the familiar curves of her Stratocaster, the worn wood smooth beneath her palm—a lover she'd known for seven years.
"Play it again," Marcus whispered from behind the mixing board, his voice cutting through the late-night silence. His eyes never left her face, watching the way she closed them when the music took hold.
Music was their language when words failed.
She struck the opening chord—a minor seventh that seemed to pull the very air into its melancholy embrace. The sound filled the space between them, thick and electric, charged with three years of unspoken desire and the kind of tension that made the best songs.
Marcus leaned forward, adjusting the levels, but his concentration wavered as Sarah began to sing. Her voice, raw and honey-smooth, wrapped around the melody like silk around skin. The lyrics spoke of midnight drives and stolen glances, of hands that almost touched but never quite dared.
When the final chord faded into silence, the studio felt smaller somehow. Sarah opened her eyes to find Marcus standing beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of old vinyl and possibility.
"That's the one," he said softly, his hand finally finding hers on the guitar neck. "That's the song that's going to change everything."
And in that moment, they both knew he wasn't just talking about the music.