She had fallen in love with a composer—a quiet man with kind eyes and a heart too fragile for the world. Together, they had written songs that could move the heavens. But on the eve of their debut album, he had vanished in a storm—gone, with no trace but a final unfinished composition left on her piano. It was said she kept it folded in that box, still unwritten, still unsung. Not because she couldn’t, but because some stories hurt too much to voice, even in music. So she left the city behind and came to this little town, carrying only her silence and a suitcase full of sorrow.
