✓ 'til we met again, shin okazaki

'til we met again ┊04

      "Woah."
Escaped my lips as I walked around the room. Inside I could find so many instruments, making the music room at my previous school fall short in comparison. I was in a music studio I found wandering the streets of Tokyo.

I sat on the floor, right in the middle of everything. Although I had been involved in the music world for many years, I had never really set foot in a practice studio, so once here I felt somewhat inhibited by everything around me. It was a new world for me, yet strangely familiar.

Sitting cross-legged I looked longingly at the old notebook in my hands, one of the many blank pages in front of my eyes. My hand trembled subtly as I held the pen, the tip almost brushing the page. Why do I feel so terrified if just moments before I was brave enough to get to this point?

I didn't understand. I grumbled and pushed my body back, which bumped lightly against the cold studio floor. I felt stupid, I had managed to make up my mind to do what my heart wanted, but my mind kept bringing back the negative memories and the fear that I was going down the wrong path. Why?

In the midst of my mental scolding, I paid attention to my surroundings. Almost popping up my ears to listen, I could hear the faint sound of a bass guitar playing. Since these rooms are meant to be insulated, having left the door half open, whatever was going on outside could still come through the sound.

Intrigued, I finally got up and slowly walked out of the room and approached a few rooms over, where the sound of someone playing the bass came from. Impressively, I must say.

Peeping through the small window in the door, I stifled a sound of surprise. Inside was the same boy I had seen days before, only this time the instrument he was carrying was in his arms, leaving the case completely forgotten on the floor. He looked so focused on whatever it was he was playing that I couldn't help but feel some admiration.

I felt my cheeks burn slightly under my hands, which hid almost my entire face, leaving only my eyes in sight, which were still glued to that boy. His thin, almost slender figure moved slightly to the beat of his playing, as did his brown hair, which fell over his eyes.

Being finally aware of the situation I was in, I turned around and almost ran to where my room was.
I closed the door this time, but I could still hear the beat, the rhythm of my heartbeat thundering through my body, and the image of that boy did not intend to disappear anytime soon.