Everywhere With You

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Chapter 9: The Melody Without a Destination

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"Some words need an address to reach someone. Others... find their own way."

The notebook remained open on the piano stand.
The page was no longer blank.
At the top, written in faint ink, stood the four words that had started it all:
How much time has passed...?
Boom had been staring at them for several minutes.
Without writing.
Without moving.
Just letting those words exist in front of him.
At first, they had been nothing more than a question born of sadness, confusion, and the desperate need to understand how something that once felt endless had turned into a memory.
But now, it felt different.
As if that sentence was waiting for him to continue.
He was no longer trying to write a letter; he knew he couldn't mail a piece of paper to a place he didn't know.
But a melody didn't need a street name or an address.
The house was quiet.
A different kind of quiet—not the silence of feeling lost, but the silence of someone finally trying to listen to himself. Boom sat at the small piano.
It wasn't new, nor the most modern instrument, but it held a special place in his heart; he had spent countless hours there creating melodies and finding small moments of peace after difficult days.
His fingertips gently brushed the ivory keys.
For a few seconds, he did nothing, until he began to play. One note. Then another.
He wasn't thinking about performances, albums, or the people who might one day hear it.
He was simply trying to find a way to say what a letter couldn't carry. And then he remembered: the small questions. "Did you eat?"
"Did you sleep well?"
"Are you tired?"
They were small ways of saying, "I'm here."
Boom lowered his eyes and understood something fundamental: Smart had always been trying to say the same thing, just in a different way.
Two people who loved each other, two people who tried to care for one another, but who had been speaking different languages for far too long.
Leaning over the notebook, he wrote a single line underneath the title:
Are you tired?
That was the question he truly wanted to ask him.
Not why things had ended the way they did, nor who was to blame, nor why they had both waited so long to speak.
He only wanted to know if Smart was okay.
His fingers played another melody, and a new line appeared on the paper:
Even if today hurts...
The song was slowly beginning to take shape.
The words came one after another, as if they had been waiting for months for the chance to escape.
But then another thought appeared: the fans.
Boom stopped playing.
He knew what could happen if this song reached the world. He knew that many people had continued believing in them and still held on to the hope of seeing them together again someday. And he understood them, because even he... sometimes wanted to believe it too.
But he was afraid.
Afraid that the song would stop being just a song, that people would search for answers in every line, or that Smart would feel thousands of people waiting for a response. Boom didn't want that. He didn't want the song to become a way of calling Smart back.
If Smart ever returned, it had to be because he wanted to, not because the world expected him to.
He took a deep breath.
This song wasn't a request; it was a truth. It didn't say, "Come back to me." It said, "I hope you're okay." The night passed slowly. Boom kept writing, playing, and letting every emotion find its place.
When he finally looked up, the sky was beginning to brighten. He had spent the entire night awake, but for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel empty.
He looked at the pages filled with notes and words, and wrote the final title:
Everywhere With You

A small smile appeared on his face.
Maybe he couldn't stand beside Smart anymore, or ask him if he had eaten, or hear his voice at the end of the day. But he had found a way to send him something: a piece of himself.

The next morning,
Boom arrived at the agency with barely any sleep.
He had an important meeting where the team was preparing the details for the upcoming fan meeting in China: schedules, rehearsals, and presentations.

"Did you sleep at all?" one of the producers asked when he saw him.

Boom smiled. "A little."
It was an answer that sounded strangely familiar. The producer watched him for a moment, but decided not to ask further.
During the meeting, Boom stayed focused, but under the table, his fingers lightly touched the folded pages inside his notebook, as if he was afraid they would disappear.

Later, when most of the team had already left, he entered the recording studio.
He needed to hear how the melody sounded with the right equipment. He set the pages on the piano, sat down, and began to play.
He didn't hear the door open, nor did he notice that someone had entered and was standing quietly, listening.
That person had heard him sing many times over the years, but this was different: he wasn't listening to an artist performing a polished track, but someone revealing a part of his heart.

When the melody ended, Boom continued looking at the keys. "Boom..." a voice broke the silence.

His heart stopped for a second. He quickly looked up, and for a brief moment, a part of him wanted to believe in the impossible: that somehow, Smart had found his way back.
But it wasn't him.
It was his producer, looking at the pages on the stand. "How long have you been standing there?"
Boom asked softly.
The producer looked at him intently. "Long enough to know... that this isn't just a song."

Boom lowered his eyes.
Maybe Smart hadn't heard it yet; maybe the melody hadn't reached him yet.
But for the first time, something born from his silence was beginning to find its way.

End of Chapter Nine.