Chapter 97

The car ride back to the penthouse was anything but quiet.

Abigail was in the passenger seat, still giggling over one of Megan’s dramatic retellings of her teammate nearly breaking the backboard during practice. The energy between them was easy, electric with the kind of comfort that comes after a good day of sunshine, sweat, and a few too many jokes that probably should’ve stayed in the gym.

“You cannot tell me she tried to dunk off one foot,” Abigail said between bursts of laughter, hand over her chest. “That woman had no business trying to defy physics like that!”

“I swear,” Megan said, steering with one hand and wiping tears of laughter with the other. “The coach just stood there like he’d seen his retirement walk off the court.”

They pulled up to the building, still laughing, their arms full of shopping bags and music gear. Abigail had her new keyboard slung over one shoulder, a set of pastel desk organizers under one arm, and a wide grin on her face. Megan juggled the new laptop box, a stack of notebooks, and the very large box containing the stylish but surprisingly heavy desk lamp Abigail had to have.

Inside the elevator, they kept cracking jokes and bumping into each other, the hallway echoing with the sound of carefree happiness. When the penthouse door opened, they slipped in mid-laughter, their cheeks still pink from the crisp city air.

Emma peeked her head up from the couch and smirked. “And what exactly was so funny?”

“Basketball injuries and backboard drama,” Abigail said, setting the keyboard gently on the floor before leaning in to give Emma a quick kiss on the forehead. “Also, apparently Megan’s a walking highlight reel.”

Megan shrugged, grinning. “I have stories.”

Ashley waved from the couch. “We had a rom-com marathon. You two missed at least two rain-soaked love confessions and one cheesy bakery proposal.”

“Ugh, the classics,” Megan said, setting down the lamp and shaking her head in mock disappointment.

“We’ll catch the next one,” Abigail said as she tugged Emma up gently by the hand. “But first… help me set up my office?”

Emma nodded, already curious. “Lead the way.”

They made their way into the spare room that had been mostly empty—just a reading chair and a floor lamp before today. But now it was buzzing with potential. Abigail lit up as she unpacked her desk, pointing out where it would go, asking for input, then rearranging it twice before settling on a spot by the window where natural light could spill across the workspace.

Emma unboxed the whiteboard while Megan unwrapped the desk chair and handed Ashley a screwdriver to help with assembly.

“This is so you,” Emma said, watching Abigail place her new journals and color-coded binders along a floating shelf. “Organized. Clean. But also lowkey dramatic with the moody lamp and the record player.”

“It’s called aesthetic,” Abigail teased, brushing a kiss across her cheek. “Plus, I have to impress the ghosts of piano legends when I practice.”

Ashley laughed as she wiped packing foam from the new guitar stand. “Speaking of practice, that guitar needs a name.”

Abigail tilted her head. “Hmm. Maybe something cool. Like… Indigo?”

Emma gasped. “That’s so cute.”

Megan raised her hand. “I vote Indigo. It sounds like a mysterious singer-songwriter who only releases music at midnight.”

They all nodded in agreement, and the room slowly came together—desk, keyboard, shelves, soft lighting, and a gentle buzz of possibility.

By the time the last box was broken down and the final sticky note pad was placed just right, Abigail flopped dramatically into her new chair.

“Okay,” she sighed, spinning halfway before stopping herself. “I’m officially ready for Columbia.”

Emma leaned over the back of the chair, arms around Abigail’s shoulders. “And you’re gonna crush it.”

Abigail smiled up at her, soft and proud. “With all of you behind me? I better.”

By the time the last box was broken down and the final sticky note pad was placed just right, Abigail flopped dramatically into her new chair.

“Okay,” she sighed, spinning halfway before stopping herself. “I’m officially ready for Columbia.”

Emma leaned over the back of the chair, arms wrapping around Abigail’s shoulders. “And you’re gonna crush it.”

Abigail smiled up at her, soft and proud. “With all of you behind me? I better.”

Ashley poked her head in from the doorway with a teasing grin. “Alright, office queens, I think it’s time for us to get back to our movie marathon. We’ve got at least one more over-the-top wedding scene and a dramatic ex-boyfriend moment to get through.”

Emma gave Abigail one more kiss on the cheek before whispering, “You two enjoy the space. I’ll bring snacks later.” She gave her a playful wink and followed Ashley back to the living room, their laughter trailing behind them.

Now it was just Megan and Abigail in the freshly transformed room, the air still faintly smelling of new furniture and ambition.

Megan leaned back against the desk, her arms crossed loosely. “You really did all this in one day. That’s kinda badass.”

Abigail chuckled, adjusting a small photo frame on her shelf. “I’m trying to start strong, y’know? New chapter, new space. Feels good.”

“You ever nervous?” Megan asked, genuinely curious. “About Columbia?”

Abigail hesitated for a second, then gave a small shrug. “Sometimes. It’s a big school. A lot of pressure. But I’ve got this… feeling. Like this is where I’m supposed to be. And honestly? Having this space makes it feel real.”

Megan nodded, then hopped into the reading chair in the corner and kicked her feet up. “Well, if you ever need a break, I know a few gyms on campus. And I’m just one text or call away.”

Abigail smiled at her, eyes warm. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Megan nodded slowly, then smiled. “So… I’ve never actually heard you play the piano. I mean, I know you’re majoring in music and all, but I’ve only seen the instruments—not the magic. Think I could get a sample? If you’re up to it.”

Abigail’s expression brightened with a playful flicker in her eyes. “You wanna hear something?”

“Yeah,” Megan said, standing up and gesturing toward the hallway. “Impress me.”

Abigail stood, stretching dramatically. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you cry.”

They walked together down the hallway toward the cozy music room Emma and Abigail had slowly built together. The soft hum of the city buzzed faintly through the window, but the space itself was quiet—filled with instruments, warm lighting, and the gentle stillness that only a room filled with creativity can hold.

Abigail sat at the keyboard, adjusting the bench and brushing her fingers lightly over the keys. Megan took a seat on a nearby loveseat, tucking her legs under herself, watching curiously.

Abigail took a breath, exhaled, then began to play.

The melody was soft, soulful—almost like a lullaby soaked in emotion. Her fingers glided over the keys with effortless grace, each note layered with meaning, like she was telling a story without needing a single word.

Megan sat still, entranced.

It wasn’t just music—it was Abigail. Every quiet hope, every lingering fear, every ounce of excitement and uncertainty about the future was wrapped in that song. By the time the final note rang out, Megan let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Damn,” she whispered.

Abigail turned to her with a small smile, cheeks flushed. “You liked it?”

“That was… more than I expected,” Megan admitted. “Like, goosebumps level.”

Abigail looked down at the keys, a little bashful. “Thanks. It’s something I wrote right before i graduated high school when everything was changing.”

“Well,” Megan said, standing slowly, “I hope Columbia’s ready for you. Because I don’t think they know what’s coming.”

“Alright,” she said, nudging Abigail gently with her shoulder. “So… teach me something.”

Abigail turned to her with a playful brow raised. “You want a lesson now?”

Megan leaned forward dramatically. “I just witnessed art. I’m inspired. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Abigail laughed, her fingers fluttering back over the keys. “Okay, okay. Let’s start with something simple. You know what middle C is?”

Megan blinked. “Is that like… the boss level for piano?”

Abigail snorted and pointed to the middle key. “That’s middle C. Your new best friend.”

Megan mimicked her position and pressed the note, looking ridiculously proud when it made a sound. “Boom. Musician status unlocked.”

Abigail shook her head, smiling. “Alright, next we’re going to build a basic C major chord. C, E, and G.” She demonstrated with her right hand, pressing each note gently. “Now you try.”

Megan watched carefully and tried to copy the motion, a little stiff and off-tempo but completely committed. The notes clashed slightly, but the effort was there.

“Beautiful,” Abigail said with exaggerated praise. “We’ll have you composing symphonies by next week.”

Megan gave a mock bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’d like to thank my teacher, my inspiration, the incredibly talented Abigail Monroe.”

Abigail playfully bumped her with her shoulder again, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

There was a beat of quiet where their laughter faded into something softer. Megan glanced down at the keys and then back at Abigail. “Seriously though… you’re really good. I can see why Emma looks at you the way she does.”

Abigail blinked, a little taken aback by the shift in tone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Megan said, voice gentler now, “you glow when you’re doing what you love. And you’ve got this… quiet fire in you. I respect the hell out of that. Not everyone can walk into a place like Columbia with their head high and a song in their back pocket.”

Abigail looked down at her hands, then back at Megan with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

Megan shrugged one shoulder, smirking again. “Well, don’t let it go to your head. You still play chords like a showoff.”

They both laughed again, the energy between them light and full of warmth. The kind that only grows when respect and admiration meet.

Abigail slid her hands across the keys again and played a few soft notes. “Wanna learn the second chord?”

Megan nodded and scooted a little closer. “Only if you promise not to judge me if I break the piano.”

“I’ll only judge you silently,” Abigail teased.