Ichika Matsumoto Pov [updated] -

The bow dances. It skids. It sings. My left hand flies up the fingerboard, not to impress, but to escape. The B-string whines. The E-string screams. I play a wrong note. A glorious, jagged wrong note that is entirely mine. It hangs in the air like a confession.

In the silence, I hear a sharp breath from the back of the hall. It is my mother. She is crying. I have never heard my mother cry before. It sounds like a cracked cello string. Ugly. Real. ichika matsumoto pov

Ichika Matsumoto (Age 17, Violin Prodigy) The bow dances

The Gravity of Silence

I lower my violin.

At school, they see the uniform. They see the pale skin and the dark circles under my eyes that concealer can’t hide. They call me “Bijin no Baiorinisuto” —the beautiful violinist. But they say it like they are naming a separate species. When I walk down the hall, the whispers follow like dead leaves in a draft. “She practiced until her fingers bled.” “Her mother drives her three hours to the Suzuki master.” “She doesn’t eat lunch.” My left hand flies up the fingerboard, not

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw my violin case onto the Yamanote Line tracks and watch the trains turn it to splinters. But I just looked out the window at the flashing billboards and said, “I will fix it.”