Latest Blog Post

the loudest silence

The studio lights were low, casting warm halos on the console as the last track faded into silence. Dahlia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by tangled cables and the quiet hum of her synthesizer still running. Her fingers hovered over the buttons, motionless, as if any note might spill too much of what she didn't want to say aloud.

She missed him.

Which was ridiculous - he'd only been around for three days. Seven sessions. Barely enough time to memorize his name, let alone build a fantasy around it. Callum. New to the studio, borrowed from a film project across town, and somehow already lodged in her chest like a chord she couldn't resolve.

He wasn't flashy. Didn't try to impress. But he'd listened - really listened - as she programmed layers of textures into their latest track, like each modulated wave was a language he already spoke fluently. He tapped along to her arpeggios, made quiet suggestions she actually used, and once, during a break, told her, "The way you build sound - it's like painting with gravity."

She'd nearly fainted.

Now he was gone. Back to the film project. Maybe on a plane already. The studio felt colder without him. She'd gotten so used to seeing him lean against the wall with that soft half-smile, nodding like every sound she made mattered.

Her notebook lay open beside her. Pages of blank staves. She wanted to write, but couldn't. Not yet.

Because this wasn't heartbreak. Not really.

It was the ache of possibility. Of what might've been if he'd stayed a little longer, or if she'd had the nerve to ask him not to go.

The synth still buzzed gently beneath her fingertips. A sound without a song. A moment between notes.

And all she could think was: How do you miss someone you only just met?