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Romance

Spill The Notes

She wasn't looking for love. He wasn't ready for it. But somewhere between broken trust and fragile new beginnings, They find something neither of them knew they needed: each other.

Apr 23, 2025  |   30 min read
Spill The Notes
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Chapter 2: Coffee and Curiosity

Kanika looked up from her laptop, blinking slowly like she wasn't sure if she heard right.

"What are you humming?"

I paused, caught mid-scroll on my phone. "Nothing."

She raised a brow. "Sounded like something."

I sighed. "It's just... I found this song. Or maybe it found me. Someone was singing it live at the caf�. I liked it. I've been trying to find it online, but it's not anywhere. It seems like an original."

Kanika closed her laptop and leaned back into the sofa. Her bun was coming undone again - like always when she hit her fifth hour of work. "I've never seen you this obsessed with a song. I thought you weren't into music?"

"I'm not," I said reflexively, and then frowned. "I mean - I wasn't. I don't know. I just? this song. It spoke to me. The words, the voice, the guitar - it all felt like it was bleeding into one emotion. Like the singer wasn't just performing it, but feeling every syllable. You should've been there. You would've loved it."

She gave me a look - half amused, half suspicious. The kind you reserve for people who claim they're "fine" while clutching a bleeding arm.

"You know," she said slowly, "that's how most people describe music they love. You've officially joined the rest of humanity."

"I'm not joining anything," I muttered, staring at the screen again. Still no results. I'd typed in half the lyrics I could remember, and all I got were misheard song suggestions and Reddit threads on obscure indie artists.

Maybe that was the point. It was meant to be fleeting.

Like a dream you remember just long enough to ache.

Kanika was still watching me. "You keep going back to that caf�?"

"Maybe," I said. "It's quiet. Good coffee. Familiar."

And maybe - I didn't say - I'm hoping he sings again.

She let out a soft laugh. "God, you're such a cryptid."

"I'm consistent," I corrected.

"Consistently obsessed with this mystery singer."

I didn't reply.

She leaned over, snagging the last biscuit from the plate between us. "What if you do find him? What then?"

I shrugged. "Then maybe I'll stop humming."

But even I didn't believe that.

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