"Echoes of Forgotten Melodies"

I didn't expect the dusty old piano in my grandmother's attic to unleash the chapters of my life that I had buried for so long. It was a wet afternoon in Dhaka, and my smartphone was no longer available due to the power outage. When I looked for evacuation from the heat and boredom, I tried my hand at the attic - a place I hadn't visited since I was a child.

The attic smelled of moth balls and aged wood. Spider weaves adorn the corners, trunks littered, and relics from the past. In the middle of the obstacle was the piano, the surface of its mahogany. I remembered how I was bullied for his keys as a child and created a meaningless melody that only my grandmother appreciated.

Curiosity won, and I grew a heavy lid. The key shook me, even though she was yellow. I pressed - C in the center. There were a few grades that swayed from memory in the cascade. I sat down and began to play the melody that my fingers floated above the key, which I felt was strange and familiar.

When results containing memory are played. I've returned to my teens when music was my sanctuary. At that time, I had a friend - Ayaan. We met at school and bonded about our shared love for music. When I played the piano, he had a violin. Together, we created a harmony where we talked about our dreams and young efforts. Our favorite place was the old music room from the main building. It was our port, the port we composed; we discussed the chords and laughed at our mistakes. A particular composition stood out - a piece we call It was our Magnum Opus, a mixture of melancholic piano and high violin.

But like many teenagers, we were tested. Ayaan received a scholarship to study music abroad. I was excited about him but jealous. Our last day was tense, full of implicit words, and we missed the possibility. On his last day, he gave me a music sheet - his I've never played much to eat to resent.Back in the attic, I browsed the piano bench and found a worn folder. Inside there was a note that Ayaan had given me. The notes turned around and challenged me. I put it on the stand and started playing, this time adding in my violin part of my piano. Tears erupted as the music wrapped around me. Each note was a conversation, an apology and memory. I realized how much I missed him and how much I missed us. The melody closed, leaving behind a deep silence.

I was searching for Ayaan online. Social media did not produce results. I turned to my old music teacher. We said that Ayaan returned to Dhaka to teach at the local music academy.

, nervous, I visited the academy. Through the glass window, I saw a group of students, clearly his passion. After class, I approached him. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by a warm smile.

We spoke for hours and created the year. I apologised for my previous actions and admitted that he felt abandoned. But music has always been our bridge. We decided to carry out the annual recall of the "Eternal Echo" Academy.

On the night of the concert, I felt a mixture of fear and excitement as we went on stage. The lights dimmed, and the first grade resonated. Our instruments were talking and weighed the carpet on the wall from emotions. The audience faded. It was just Ayaan and me, and we reconnected through our common creation. Final note followed by thunder applause. We stood, put our hands down and acknowledged the audience. But more importantly, we recognized each other and the journey that brought us back to our undulations.