Chapter 22
Joel
Anna’s hair keeps slipping from behind her ear, falling in loose waves around her face as she scrolls through our playlist for Mina’s doljanchi. She doesn’t tuck it back. Doesn’t acknowledge it. Just keeps her eyes on her phone screen like it holds the secrets of the universe.
She’s been doing that all week—pretending to be perfectly fine, acting like everything is totally normal, as if things on Sunday night didn’t happen.
As if I didn’t almost kiss her. As if she didn’t almost kiss me.
And maybe that would be fine. If I wasn’t still thinking about it. If my brain hadn’t spent the past four and a half fucking days replaying every single detail—her lips parting, the way she leaned in, the heat of her breath against my skin before Ethan burst into the scene and ruined everything.
But I have been thinking about it. A lot.
And now? I kind of want to see if I can make it happen again.
I know I shouldn’t. I was only here to make sure she forgave me. To clear the air and rid myself of this heavy weight on my chest. I guess I sorta managed that last part. The weight is gone, but it’s been replaced by something else. Something way more feral and unpredictable.
I strum a few chords, letting the sound fill the space between us. She doesn’t look up. But the corner of her mouth twitches—just the barest hint of a smile before she schools her expression back to neutral.
“Alright, so we’ve got a solid list for Mina’s doljanchi,” she says, still not looking at me. “I suppose we should run through it one more time to make sure we’re set.”
“You sound excited.”
Her eyes flick up. “I sound prepared.”
“Same thing.” I shrug.
“Not remotely.”
The corner of my lip curves up despite itself. “Come on, Ace. You have to admit, you’re actually enjoying yourself. We make a great time. Always have.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “I enjoy being competent.”
“Yeah? So you’re saying if I threw you a curveball right now, you wouldn’t flinch?”
That gets her attention. Her fingers tighten around her phone, and she narrows her eyes. “Define curveball.”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the guitar. “Come to my show tonight.”
She freezes. Just for a second. It’s barely a breath, a hesitation so small someone else might miss it.
But I don’t miss it.
Then she scoffs, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
I let out a dramatic sigh, plucking at the strings. “That was fast. Didn’t even think about it.”
“I did think about it,” she counters. “For half a second. And then I dismissed it. Because it’s a terrible idea.”
“Why?”
She blinks, like she wasn’t expecting me to ask. “Because,” she says after a beat. “Because I have other plans.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah? What plans?”
“My own.”
I grin. “That sounds fake.”
She leans back into the couch cushions, dropping her gaze to her phone like she’s bored. “It’s not.”
I strum a slow, lazy chord. “If you say so.”
She actually snorts through her nose like a bull. “I do.”
I nod, pretending to accept that, even though I know—I know—she’s thinking about it now. The flicker of hesitation, the way she shifted her weight, the way she refused to meet my eyes for just a second too long.
I mean, she’s not coming.
But she kinda wants to.
I tap my fingers against the body of my guitar, studying her. “We’re good enough at this. I don’t think we need to run through it again. Instead, you want to tell me why you’re so against seeing me perform?”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh my god, Joel.”
“What?”
She throws her hands in the air. “Because—because it’s weird, okay?”
Okay, wasn’t expecting that.
I tilt my head. “Weird how?”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her hands hover for a second before she drops them back to her sides. “I’m not doing this with you.”
I shoot her a half smile. “Sounds like you already are.”
She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “You are so—”
“Charming? Persuasive?” I offer.
“Infuriating. Frustrating. Obnoxious.”
“That too.” I beam at her.
She exhales, long and slow. “Let’s just focus on the music, please.”
I bite back my grin and nod. “Whatever you say, Ace.”
But as she turns her attention back to the setlist, shifting her focus with a little more force than necessary, I catch it—the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips.
God, if it doesn’t make my heart flip a little bit.
We’ve planned out a few songs that I’ll be playing solo. A few we’ll do together—me on guitar, her on piano. And then a few favorites for Mina that there’s no way in hell either of us are replicating. The straight-up soundtrack will have to do.
So far, I’m the only one singing, though, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
I let the moment sit—let the quiet stretch between us. The air feels heavier than it should, charged with something neither of us is willing to acknowledge. I should probably let it go. Hell, I should probably just focus on Mina’s music, like she clearly wants me to.
But I don’t.
Instead, I shift the guitar on my lap and pluck out a familiar tune—the melody of a song we used to mess around with years ago, back before everything got complicated.
Anna’s fingers tighten on her phone, her eyes flicking up for just a second before she quickly looks away. But I see it. That flicker of recognition.
I keep playing, slow and easy.
“You remember this one?” I ask, schooling my voice to remain casual.
She exhales through her nose again. “Of course, I remember it.”
“Sing it with me.”
She shakes her head. “We’re not doing this, Joel.”
I grin, nudging her with my elbow. “Oh, we absolutely are.”
She doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t join in, either.
I slow the tempo, making the notes drag, waiting her out.
Finally, she rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath before shifting forward in her seat. Then, in a voice quieter than I was expecting, she sings the opening line.
It’s not perfect. It’s hesitant, almost careful, but damn, it still hits me straight in the chest.
I ease into the harmony, our voices blending like they always have—effortless, natural. Like muscle memory kicking in between the two of us. Even after all these years—through voice changes and god knows what else. It’s still there.
The magic.
The song fades to a close, and for a second, neither of us speaks. The only sound is the low hum of the city beyond the window, the distant buzz of traffic, the faintest sound of her steady breath.
She’s looking at me now, something unreadable in her gaze. Her fingers tap against her knee—light, restless.
“You still sound good,” I tell her.
She snorts, shaking her head. “You act like that’s a surprise.”
“Not a surprise,” I admit. “Just nice to hear again.”
Something flickers across her face, too quick for me to catch. She looks down, tracing the rim of her phone case with the tip of her finger.
“I should go,” she says, but she doesn’t make any move to leave. “I have a ton of work to do.”
I set the guitar aside and lean back on my hands. “You know, I was thinking…”
Her gaze snaps up. “That’s dangerous.”
I smirk. “Debatable.”
She waits, clearly wary.
I let the pause stretch just enough to make her squirm, then say, “What if we added a song?”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“For Mina’s party. What if we threw in a surprise?”
She eyes me. “Why do I feel like you already have something in mind?”
I shrug. “Maybe I do.”
She crosses her arms. “Joel.”
I press a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “What? You don’t trust me?”
“No.”
“Harsh.”
She huffs. “What song?”
I pause, then say, “You know which one.”
Her jaw hardens and her eyebrows tug in. “No.”
I tilt my head, watching her reaction closely. The immediate no isn’t what makes me pause—it’s the way her fingers tighten around her phone, her shoulders going rigid for just a second too long.
There’s something she’s not telling me.
“You sure about that?” I ask, keeping my tone light. “Because you just made a face.”
Her lips press into a thin line before she says, “I did not make a face.”
I smirk. “You totally did. In fact, you’re still doing it.”
She exhales sharply, shifting in her seat, her gaze flicking anywhere but at me.
I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “I get why you don’t want to sing it.”
Anna doesn’t move, her fingers still tight around her phone.
I shift the guitar on my lap, plucking at the strings absently. “You think I don’t, but I do.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Joel—”
“I took something from you,” I say, voice quieter now. “Back then. With the song.”
That stills her. Not a big reaction, just a flicker, the slightest hesitation. But it’s there.
I exhale through my nose. “I told myself it was just about the music. That giving you credit after the fact made it okay.” I swallow, glancing at her. “But it wasn’t just the song, was it?”
Her breath catches. It’s tiny, barely a sound, but I hear it.
I rub my thumb along the edge of my guitar. “It wasn’t just music for me, either. You weren’t just music for me.”
She blinks, her fingers going still.
I don’t say more. I don’t need to. I just let it sit there, between us, in the heavy quiet. Besides, if I said it—actually said it—it would be real and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.
For a moment, I think she might say something. Her mouth parts, her expression flickering with something I can’t name.
But then, she just shakes her head, like she’s trying to push it all away.
I nod slowly, shifting back, forcing an easy breath. “Alright.”
She exhales, looking down at her phone, tracing the edges of it with her thumb again.
And that’s when I see it.
Her fingers twitch, gripping just a little tighter, and something clicks into place in my mind.
I tilt my head, watching her closely. “You opened it.”
She stills.
Doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t deny it.
I exhale, my lips pressing together. I wasn’t expecting that.
Anna sighs, setting her phone down beside her. “You’re so annoying.”
I let out a quiet chuckle, but it’s softer this time. “Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
She doesn’t look at me right away, just stares at the setlist between us. But something about her feels… unsteady. Like she’s standing too close to an edge she didn’t realize was there.
Her jaw tightens. Then, she shakes her head, her voice quieter now. “I can’t do that song. Not now, not ever, Joel.”
I frown, setting aside my guitar so I can turn to face her.
She swallows, her fingers gripping her phone like a lifeline. “It still hurts too much.”
I don’t move, barely breathe.
Anna Chang just admitted to me she has feelings. Feelings about the song. Feelings about us singing it. Hell, feelings in general.
Maybe even feelings about me.
She exhales sharply, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead before dragging it through her hair. “Look, we have this… thing. A temporary ceasefire. We get through Mina’s party, and then you can go back to being famous or whatever, and I can go back to my life.”
I study her for a moment. I don’t know what to say or how to make this better.
Maybe there isn’t a way.
Maybe I already ruined it beyond repair and this little glimmer of civility—that’s all it will ever be between us.
That thought feels like a punch to the gut.
She shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear something away, then pushes off the couch, grabbing her phone. “I really do have work to do.”
I nod, because what the hell else can I do?
She moves toward the door, but just as she reaches for the handle, her fingers hesitate on the knob.
It’s small. Barely a pause. But again, I see it.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
I see all of it.
The way her breath stutters, just for a second, before she squares her shoulders. The way her knuckles tighten around her phone, like she needs something to hold onto. The way she won’t look at me—not because she’s indifferent, but because she isn’t.
And then, just before she pulls the door open, she does it—she tucks her hair behind her ear.
I exhale, my grip tightening on the neck of my guitar.
For a second, it’s like we’re teenagers again.
Her leaving. Me watching her go.
Only this time, I’m not letting it happen.
Not like that.
I need to do something.
The envelope wasn’t enough. A couple of songs won’t be enough. I could play every damn track I’ve ever written and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I don’t just want her to hear me.
I need her to see me.
But how the hell do I do that when every time I get close, she bolts?
The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone in the quiet.
I run a hand down my face, mind already turning over ideas, searching for something, anything.
A grand gesture of sorts.
Something so unmistakably us that she won’t be able to ignore it.
But what?
What the hell do I have left?
I pluck a single note, the sound ringing sharp in the silence.
Then another.
Then another.
And then—I know.
It’s reckless. Maybe even stupid.
She’ll absolutely hate it.
But for the first time in days, something in my chest eases.
If she won’t come to me, then I’ll make damn sure she can’t look away.