“Art is in the soul of everything that was created.”
---
— Joel —
She watched me, her eyes steady and curious, as I brought out my newly bought bass guitar. My heart pounded in my chest, anticipation swirling inside me. Rehearsing for this moment had been eye-opening—I hadn’t realized how rusty I was until I started preparing. But this performance wasn’t just for me; it was for her.
I placed two stools in the studio, gesturing for her to sit on one while I took the other. The space between us felt vast, though intentionally so, as if the distance could contain the weight of what I was about to share.
“Ready?” I asked, steadying myself as my fingers brushed the strings.
“Yes…” she whispered, her voice soft but eager.
I started slowly, letting my fingers find the rhythm. A gentle strum echoed in the room, and I repeated the motion twice more before beginning the first note—C#.
I met her,
The beauty who stole my heart,
The one who I knew was near,
But didn’t take seriously…
The melody was simple, yet each word carried the weight of my feelings.
Maybe it’s true that we,
Only miss the sun when it’s
Growing low,
Only know you love her when
You let her go.
I sang, my voice low and unsteady at first, but growing stronger with every word.
I started with movies, 
then with
Books, trying to forget her,
To take my mind off her.
But my art…
It clung to her.
My fingers moved instinctively, the melody weaving itself around the confession in my words.
She became the muse 
I always longed for,
Waited long and hard for.
But it was only when 
I met her again,
Did I realize how 
deeply special she is.
I glanced at her, her gaze unwavering, and I pressed on.
Now I realize that you 
only miss the smile when it’s dim.
Only miss the love 
and compassion when it’s gone.
Only miss her words 
when silence steals the air.
I let the last note linger, fading into the room like an exhale.
But I have her now… ah, ah, ah…
And I will never, ever make the mistake of letting her go, ah, ah, ah.
---
— Cecile —
The room fell silent, but his voice lingered in the air, wrapping itself around me. Warm tears spilled down my cheeks as I stared at him, my heart overflowing. How could something be so beautiful?
“What do you think?” he asked, placing the guitar aside, his voice almost shy.
I didn’t wait for him to finish speaking before leaping into his arms, burying my face in his chest. He caught me easily, holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world.
“That… was beautiful, Joel,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. “I love it.”
“I know you do, love,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across my forehead. “I do too.”
---
“Since when did you plan to surprise me like this?” I asked, the two of us sitting at a small dining table he’d somehow fit into his studio.
Who would’ve thought a room so ethereal could accommodate something as ordinary as lunch? Yet here we were—me with chicken and chips, him with mushroom salad, and a bottle of my favorite grape wine sitting between us.
“After I proposed to you... before then, I wasn’t sure of anything.” His smile was sincere, and the warmth of it spread through me like sunlight.
“You weren’t sure I’d accept you back?” I asked, popping a chip into my mouth and chewing slowly.
Joel paused, his glass of wine halfway to his lips. Instead of sipping, he swirled it gently. “Well,” he began, his tone heavy with doubt, “I had hurt you deeply... and so many years had passed. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d moved on.”
“Oh...” I watched him finally take a sip of his wine, mirroring him with my own. “So you thought this story would end in heartbreak? That we’d go our separate ways to teach the lover girls and boys a lesson?”
He chuckled lightly. “Maybe. My insecurities have a way of spinning those kinds of endings.”
A man admitting his vulnerabilities so openly... It reminded me of a quote from one of my favorite psychologists: “A man who acknowledges his weaknesses is one you can trust.” In that moment, I couldn’t agree more.
“Um...” I hesitated.
“What about you?” Joel asked, spreading more mayonnaise onto his salad. He mixed it in, completely unfazed. For someone who consumed so much fat, he somehow managed to stay incredibly athletic—something my dad never quite achieved, no matter how hard he tried.
“I exercise a lot,” he added casually, as though reading my thoughts.
I nodded, having seen proof of that countless times. But his next words caught me completely off guard. “Especially in bed.”
My cheeks flushed instantly at the implication.
“Meaning I exercise a lot too,” I replied, trying to sound confident despite the chip in my mouth. Big mistake. His teasing gaze nearly made me choke.
“Not as much as I do,” he said, grinning mischievously.
“Whatever,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
His expression shifted then, the playfulness replaced by something softer, more serious. “So, what’s your answer?”
I met his gaze, caught off guard by the intensity in his eyes. “Well, even though things didn’t look promising, I had this inner feeling that we’d end up together someday. I tried to let go of you, believe me... but I failed.”
“I’m glad you did,” he said softly. “Because here we are—married and in love.” There was a glimmer of mischief in his tone, but I chose to ignore it.
“But what if you’d met someone else before we reunited?” The question hit me harder than I expected, sparking a wave of doubt I’d never entertained before.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t been asked out before—plenty of guys had shown interest back on campus. But none of them had pursued anything serious. What if they had? Would I be here now, sharing lunch with my first love, the man I could only describe as my muse?
“I don’t know,” I admitted with a chuckle, trying to dispel the sudden heaviness. “But you wouldn’t have been replaced so easily. You’re my muse, after all.”
“Hm... that’s interesting,” Joel said, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ve always believed in soulmates. I used to wonder if we were... but now, I have no doubt.”
“Which makes me think—how many people are married but not divinely connected?”
He tilted his head, considering it. “Well, that might explain the high divorce rates, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice tinged with sadness. “It’s disheartening.”
“But I’m grateful you never gave up on me, even when things were tough,” he said earnestly, his gratitude shining through every word.
“Not like I had much of a choice,” I replied with a laugh, though deep down, I knew the truth—I never really did.
….
A/N; What do you think, guys?