Chapter 28: Tapes and Tethers
Kael sat in a corner booth at Bean & Beat, the coffee shop's warm hum wrapping around him like a worn blanket. The air carried the scent of espresso and fresh scones, the jukebox spinning a lo-fi jazz tune. His guitar case rested against the wall, the leather strap's stars catching the light, a quiet echo of his mom's pride. The Hollow's viral video—now at twelve thousand views—still buzzed in his mind, but it was his dad's tape, Blue Shift's raw chords, that weighed heavier, a ghost made real. Shatterpoint was at nine thousand listens, Flicker nearing twenty-five hundred, and The Drift's gig was two weeks away, but today, Kael needed Mira to help him untangle the past.
Mira slid into the booth, her scarf trailing, a to-go cup steaming in her hand. Her eyes were tired but bright, her sketchpad tucked under her arm. "You look like you saw a ghost," she said, her grin teasing but soft. "What's this 'something to share' from your text? Spill."
Kael pulled the cassette from his pocket, its faded label—Blue Shift, 1998—glinting under the lamp. "My dad's band," he said, his voice low, almost reverent. "Mom told me yesterday. He was like me—guitar, songs, dreams. Quit when they got married. She gave me his tapes." He slid it across the table, his fingers lingering, as if letting go might unravel him.
Mira's grin faded, her eyes widening as she picked up the tape. "Whoa, Kael. This is… huge." She turned it over, her voice softening. "You listened?"
"Yeah," Kael said, his throat tight. "It's raw, like Shatterpoint. Like he was pouring everything out. But he stopped. Chose 'practical' over music." He thought of his mom's trembling hand, her fear he'd burn out. "I'm not him, Mira, but hearing it… it's like I get why he's so hard on me. He's scared I'll break like he did."
Mira leaned forward, her gaze steady. "You're not breaking. You're building. The Hollow proved it—people feel you, Kael. You're not your dad's ghost." Her fingers brushed his, a fleeting warmth, and Kael felt the spark between them flare, unspoken but alive.
He nodded, her words a tether pulling him back. "Thanks. Just… needed to hear that." He took a sip of coffee, its bitterness grounding him. "Mom said to keep going, but be careful. I think she's scared I'll lose myself, like he did."
Mira's expression softened, but a shadow crossed her face. "My parents are the same. They're 'supportive' now, but it's conditional. Got a college brochure in the mail yesterday. Feels like they're waiting for me to fail." She opened her sketchpad, revealing a new drawing—a figure on a tightrope, city lights below, fireflies above. "This is me, right now. Balancing."
Kael studied the sketch, seeing her fear and defiance in every line. "You're not falling," he said, his voice firm. "Flicker's you, Mira. The Hollow crowd felt it. So do I." He thought of their harmony on Dust Road, the city's pulse in their chords. "We're in this together, yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, her smile small but real. The air shifted, their closeness a quiet rhythm, like a song they hadn't named. She tapped the tape. "Play it. I want to hear him."
Kael hesitated, then pulled out his phone, where he'd digitized the tape. He hit play, and Blue Shift's opening riff filled the booth—gritty, soulful, a young voice singing of stars and open roads. Mira's eyes closed, her head tilting as if chasing the sound. In Kael's mind, the music was indigo and silver, a city at midnight, alive with dreams.
"It's like you," Mira said when it ended, her voice soft. "Raw, real. He was good, Kael. You carry that fire." She paused, then added, "Maybe you're healing what he lost."
Kael's chest ached, her words a bridge between past and present. "Maybe," he said, tucking the tape away. "Let's keep building, then. The Drift, open mics, Juno's contacts. No leashes."
Mira nodded, her grin returning. "Deal. Got a new song idea for The Drift—something about fireflies, holding on. Wanna jam later?"
"Always," Kael said, his heart lighter. His phone buzzed—a SoundSphere comment on Shatterpoint: "Hollow was magic. You're our truth." Anonymous, maybe Veyl, maybe the city. He showed Mira, who laughed, sketching a firefly into her tightrope scene.
"That's us," she said, her voice a vow. "Tethered, but flying."
Kael nodded, the tape and sketchpad heavy with meaning, the city's hum a steady pulse outside. The Drift was close, but this moment—his dad's echo, Mira's spark, their shared truth—was a tether, strong enough to carry them forward.
To be continued…