The Last Song She Played

The Last Song She Played

By Mahboob Khan

The record player clicked softly. A few dust motes danced in the sunlight filtering through the old curtains. Daniel stood still, clutching the faded vinyl cover like it was something sacred. It had been her favorite — Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat major.

He hadn’t touched the turntable in two years.

But this morning felt different. The apartment, still littered with her ghost — a scarf on the hook, a chipped mug she’d loved, a note still stuck to the fridge — breathed differently. As if time had paused, just for a moment, allowing him to remember her not with pain, but with a quiet sort of ache.

Emma had played music like it was prayer. She never rushed, never skipped notes, always closed her eyes when her fingers touched the piano keys. He used to watch her from the kitchen doorway, sipping coffee he didn’t know how to brew properly until she taught him.

The day she left — not storming, not shouting, just a soft goodbye and a letter tucked into his coat pocket — the music left with her. She had said: "I need to learn who I am without holding your heart too tightly."

He had hated those words.

But now, standing in the living room where they had once slow-danced barefoot, he didn’t feel hate anymore. Just memory. A thick one. Heavy like fog.

He placed the record gently and lowered the needle. That first note — aching and elegant — filled the room. And suddenly, she was there again.

Not in body. In scent, in sound, in feeling.

He closed his eyes.

Emma in her favorite oversized sweater, pulling him into the rhythm of her song. Emma humming softly, forehead against his shoulder. Emma playing the piano while rain tapped the windows.

The song played on. With it came a realization.

They had loved each other well. Fiercely. Silently sometimes. Loudly other times. They had loved like two people who met too early and didn’t know how to grow together. That didn’t mean the love was broken. Just… timed wrong.

When the music faded, so did the moment.

He opened his eyes.

Still alone.

But something in him had shifted. The grief had softened its claws. He didn’t feel like breaking anymore. He felt… full.

Daniel stepped into the hallway and opened the closet. Behind an old winter coat was the piano sheet she used to keep — the original copy, torn at the edges. He smiled.

He couldn’t play, not really. But maybe it was time to learn. Not to bring her back, but to carry her with him differently.

He placed the sheet on the table.

For the first time since she left, he didn’t replay the ending. He replayed the good parts. The morning she taught him to crack eggs without breaking the yolk. The way she laughed during movies and cried during car commercials. The song she played, again and again, until the room felt like it had a heartbeat.

The record clicked again. Done.

Daniel didn’t play it again.

He walked to the window, opened it, and let the wind carry the last note away.