Timeless Melody

The record player sat in the corner of the antique shop, its wood polished to a soft gleam despite the layers of dust covering everything else. Rose traced her fingers along the edge, the brass accents cool against her skin. She was supposed to be finding vintage decor for her new studio, not dragging home relics of a bygone era, but something about the player whispered to her — like it had been waiting.

When she dropped the needle on the vinyl that night, the world tilted.

The room dissolved in a shimmer of golden light, and when it settled, Rose wasn’t in her apartment anymore. She stood in a dimly lit club, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of whiskey. On stage, a man sang into an old-fashioned microphone, his voice smooth as velvet, filling the space like magic.

He had tousled dark hair, a crooked smile, and eyes that sparkled beneath the stage lights. The crowd swayed, hypnotized, but Rose couldn’t move. She clutched her chest, heart pounding, her mind scrambling to make sense of the impossible.

When the set ended, the singer weaved through the tables, laughing and chatting with patrons like they were old friends. Rose couldn’t help but stare, her modern clothes already drawing curious glances. He caught her eye and grinned, sauntering over with an easy confidence.

“You new around here?” he asked, voice warm and rich.

“I— yeah,” she stammered, her pulse racing. “Just... passing through.”

“I’m James,” he said, extending a hand. “James Callahan.”

She shook it, the contact sending a jolt up her arm. “Rose.”

He bought her a drink, and they talked until the bar emptied out, the conversation flowing like a melody. He told her about his dreams of cutting a record, of making it big. She told him about her work as a producer, carefully leaving out the part where she was from fifty years in the future.

When the lights dimmed, she felt a tug at her core, and the club blurred into streaks of gold. She woke up on her apartment floor, the record player crackling with static.

But she couldn’t forget him.

The next night, she played the record again — and returned to the club. James beamed when he saw her, like he’d been waiting, and each night after, they fell into an easy rhythm. She helped him write songs, tweaking melodies and lyrics over late-night coffees. They walked the streets of the city, her heart cracking a little more each time the sun rose and she vanished back to her own time.

Days turned to weeks, and their feelings grew like wildfire. James held her hand under the table at the bar. He kissed her beneath flickering streetlights. And when he sang the song they wrote together — Timeless Melody — for the first time, he looked right at her, like she was the only person in the room.

But the more she loved him, the harder it became to leave.

One night, he asked the question she’d been dreading. “Where do you go when you disappear?”

Her throat tightened. “It’s complicated.”

“I can handle complicated,” he said, eyes searching hers. “Just tell me the truth.”

So she did. She told him about the record player, about the future, about how every night she spun the vinyl and prayed it would take her back to him. His jaw clenched, disbelief flickering across his face, but when she reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away.

“I don’t care where you came from,” he whispered. “I just want you here.”

The next morning, Rose didn’t play the record. She couldn’t. The ache in her chest was too sharp, the thought of seeing him and having to leave again unbearable. But as she sat in her studio, listening to James's song on repeat, she realized she already knew the choice she had to make.

That night, she packed a bag.

She played the record one last time, and when she landed in the club, James was on stage, singing Timeless Melody. His eyes found her as he sang the final note, and when he stepped down, she was waiting.

She didn’t tell him she was staying. She just kissed him, hoping he’d understand.

And he did.

They built a life together, recording music and chasing dreams. Rose never returned to her old world, and over time, the record player gathered dust in a forgotten corner of her heart. But sometimes, late at night, she’d press her ear to James’s chest, listening to his heartbeat like the rhythm of a song, and she knew she’d made the right choice.

Because love, she discovered, was the only melody that truly transcended time.