Chapter 21
The afternoon sun poured into Vi's garage, casting long, slanted rays across the cluttered workbenches and the scattered car parts that littered the floor. The hum of the city outside was muffled by the thick walls, leaving only the distant sound of the occasional engine revving or the clink of tools being dropped to the floor. It was the kind of place where the world outside didn't matter; where time was measured not by the ticking of a clock, but by the sounds of engines, grease, and the rhythm of working hands.
Vi was at the workbench, hands covered in oil as she fiddled with the engine in front of her. She hadn't said much since you'd arrived, only a nod of greeting as you entered. But there was something in her stance, in the way she held herself that told you everything you needed to know. She wasn't one for grand declarations or romantic speeches. That wasn't her style. She showed her feelings through actions, through the way she took care of you, through the way she protected you, through the way she shared her world with you.
You had learned that about her over time. Vi's love wasn't wrapped in sweet words or poetic gestures. It was in the way she always had your back, in the way she'd stay up late working on something just to see you smile. Her love was something quieter, something steadier. It wasn't loud, but it was there, unmistakable in its intensity.
You'd always been a little unsure of how to respond to her. Your upbringing had taught you to expect something more from love—flowers, poems, sweet words spoken in hushed tones. But with Vi, you'd realized that love didn't need to be pretty. It didn't need to be perfect. It just needed to be real.
Today, she was teaching you how to take apart an old motorcycle, something you'd never tried before. You had no doubt that she was doing it not because you asked, but because she wanted you to be part of her world, to understand the things that mattered to her.
"Alright," Vi's voice broke through your thoughts as she handed you a wrench, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and challenge. "Let's see if you can do this part without messing up."
You smiled, taking the tool from her. "I think I can handle it. I mean, how hard can it be?"
Vi raised an eyebrow at you, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Famous last words," she muttered, watching closely as you positioned the wrench.
The two of you worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the clinking of metal, the steady thrum of Vi's focus, and the occasional muttered curse when you made a mistake—Vi's, not yours.
It wasn't that you didn't enjoy this. You did. There was something meditative about the way Vi worked, her body moving in a rhythm that matched the machines she was so familiar with. You couldn't help but admire her, the way her muscles flexed with each movement, her body working in harmony with the machinery around her.
Still, there was something missing. You had always thought that your love for music, for the piano, was something that couldn't really be shared. It was a solitary passion, something you did alone when you wanted to escape from the weight of your family's expectations. But now, as you watched Vi in her element, you couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to blend the two worlds together.
You set the wrench down and stretched, glancing over at her. "Vi... I have something I want to show you."
She didn't look up from her work, but you could tell she was listening. "Yeah?"
You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to bring it up. Music was something so deeply personal for you, something you had never shared with anyone. But there was something about the way Vi was teaching you today, something about how she was showing you her world, that made you want to do the same.
"Yeah," you said, determination creeping into your voice. "I want to show you something. It's not much, but... well, it's important to me."
Vi turned her head slightly, her sharp gaze meeting yours. There was something soft in her eyes, a rare vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. "What's up?" she asked, setting down the wrench and wiping her hands on a rag.
"I play piano," you said, the words coming out faster than you intended. You could feel the weight of the admission settle between you, a little awkward but also freeing. "It's been something I've done for years. I mean, I don't play for anyone—just for me. But I thought... maybe you'd want to hear it?"
Vi didn't respond immediately. For a moment, she just stared at you, her expression unreadable. You could feel the nerves creeping up in your chest, wondering if you'd made a mistake.
Then, with a casual shrug, she stood up, tossing the rag aside. "Alright, show me what you got."
You blinked, surprised at her ease. She didn't hesitate, didn't make you feel stupid for asking. She just accepted it. And that, more than anything, was what made you trust her so much.
The two of you left the garage and walked into the small living area of your apartment. You didn't have much in terms of decoration, but there was an old upright piano against the wall, one that had been passed down through your family for generations. You had always loved it, the smooth ivory keys, the familiar feel of the black-and-white keys beneath your fingers.
Vi followed you to the piano, standing just behind you as you sat down. She didn't say anything, just watched you closely as you positioned your hands above the keys. You took a deep breath, letting the stillness of the room settle in around you.
Then, you played.
The notes were slow at first, hesitant, like you weren't sure what to expect from the audience in front of you. But as you got lost in the music, the familiar comfort of the piano, you let go. The melody was soft, lingering in the air as your fingers danced across the keys, weaving the song together. It was a song you had written yourself, one that had helped you through many tough times. It was something you had never shared with anyone, not even your parents.
When the song ended, you lifted your hands from the keys, your chest tight with emotion. You hadn't realized how much you needed to share it with someone until now. But as you turned toward Vi, you found her standing there, her expression unreadable.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Vi stepped forward, her hand reaching out to rest on the back of the piano. She met your eyes, her gaze steady. "That was... amazing," she said quietly, her voice unusually soft. "I didn't know you had it in you."
You blinked, surprised by her response. "You really liked it?"
Vi nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah. I liked it a lot. You've got talent, you know that?"
Her words made your heart swell. In the quiet of the room, with Vi standing beside you, you felt seen. She had taken the time to learn about your world, to understand what mattered to you, just as you had done for her.
"You've got a lot of heart in that music," Vi continued, her voice growing stronger. "It's... it's kind of like how you work on cars, I guess. The way you pay attention to every little detail, the way you pour everything into what you do. It's the same thing."
You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Yeah, I guess it is. I never really thought about it like that, but it makes sense."
Vi stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "You should play more often. I'll listen. I'm sure there's a lot more where that came from."
You nodded, a little sheepish. "Maybe. I'll think about it."
There was a quiet pause between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a moment of shared understanding, a realization that love wasn't just about grand gestures or big romantic displays. It was in the quiet moments, the small acts of kindness, the willingness to show up for each other and share the things that mattered.
Vi had shown you that love wasn't just about words—it was about actions. And in that moment, you knew that your love for her was more than words. It was in the way you worked together, the way you shared pieces of yourselves with each other, piece by piece.