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Months passed, and the seasons changed, but Aarohi remained trapped in her grief. One evening, after a particularly difficult day, she found herself wandering through the city, unsure of where she was headed. The sun had set, and the streets were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. She walked aimlessly, her hands deep in her coat pockets, when she noticed a small music store tucked away in a corner.
Aarohi stood outside the shop for a moment, hesitating. She hadn’t been near music since the accident, and the idea of stepping inside felt like reopening an old wound. But something about the shop drew her in. It wasn’t like the grand concert halls she was used to—it was humble, filled with old instruments and vinyl records, the kind of place that seemed frozen in time.
Inside, the store was warm, with the faint smell of wood and dust in the air. An elderly man sat behind the counter, his gray hair tousled, and his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He looked up as she entered, offering her a gentle smile.
“Looking for something special?” he asked, his voice kind.
Aarohi shook her head, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t spoken about music to anyone in months, and the words felt foreign on her tongue. But before she could respond, her eyes fell on something in the corner—a violin, resting on a worn velvet case.
There was something about the instrument that caught her attention, something in the way it seemed to call to her, even in the silence of her world. She walked over to it, her fingers brushing the smooth wood. The violin was old, but beautifully crafted, its strings delicate yet strong.
“Ah, the violin,” the shopkeeper said, coming over to her. “It has its own kind of magic, doesn’t it?”
Aarohi nodded, though she wasn’t sure why. She had never played the violin before, her entire life having been dedicated to the piano. But in that moment, she felt something stir within her—something she hadn’t felt since the accident.
Without thinking, she asked, “Can I try it?”
The shopkeeper’s eyes twinkled, as if he had been waiting for her to ask. He handed her the violin and a bow, watching as she positioned it awkwardly under her chin. Aarohi’s hands trembled slightly as she drew the bow across the strings, producing a low, haunting sound that resonated deep within her.
Though she couldn’t hear the music the way she once had, she could feel it. The vibrations of the strings against her fingers, the way the notes seemed to pulse through her body. It wasn’t the same as playing the piano, but there was something raw, something real about it.
She closed her eyes and played again, this time with more confidence. The sound that filled the room was not perfect—it was rough, hesitant, but it was music. For the first time in months, Aarohi felt a connection to something beyond her silence.( TO BE CONTINUED)
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati , Assam , India
08/11/2024
musingofrajat.wordpress.com 