Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight series. That right belongs to Stephenie Meyers. I don't own the song "Bittersweet Symphony".
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Bittersweet
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A hauntingly beautiful melody echoed throughout the room. His aunt was late again, but he did not care; she had a rough time with the New York City traffic. His nimble fingers caressed the piano keys flawlessly, eliciting a harmonious tune. The melody clashed with the violin CD he had popped in before his performance. He had a recital in only a few short weeks, so he needed all the preparation he could get.
"You are improving well, Devon."
He turned his head to the right and saw one of the piano instructors walking into the room. "Thank you," Devon whispered lowly.
The instructor's eyes softened. "Still mourning?"
Devon glanced down at the piano, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "She was my mother. How could I not mourn? I have no one left."
"You said you would be staying with your aunt, did you not?"
"Yeah, I guess." Devon bit his lip, thinking about his deceased mother. "I'm basically an orphan. No mother. No father. I am alone."
"You are not alone, child," the instructor sighed. He sat down on the piano bench and put a hand on the nine-year-olds shoulder. "Your parents are still alive in your memories and heart. That is the one true place they will never die." He smiled fondly and began to play a beautiful song. "I lost my parents long ago Devon—I turned out fine."
"Everyone says you are a grump," Devon muttered under his breath.
The instructor scoffed. "Everyone has their bad days." The song slowly shifted to another song of the past. It almost hurt him to play the melody. Memories flooded into his mind. A ghost of a whisper lingering in his ear. The faint kiss caressing his cold cheek. Thrumming of an everlasting heartbeat. Beautiful.
"I know this song."
The instructor turned to Devon and furrowed his eyebrows. "You know it?"
"Yeah," Devon said. He hummed the song under his breath, shocking his instructor. "I do not remember where I heard it, but I have. Somewhere. When I was very little."
He took out the music sheet and rested it against the piano's podium. "It must be a mistake. I wrote this piece for someone very dear to me, but I never played it publicly." He pondered for a moment and ceased his playing. A scent filled his nostrils. A smell from many years ago. Intoxicating. Freesia. His eyes widened slightly as he got up and darted off the stage.
"Devon?" a feminine voice called out.
Devon shifted his head from left to right, confused at where the instructor went. He shrugged and turned towards an opening door and saw his aunt. She smiled and walked to the stage, standing behind the piano bench. Devon remained silent and stared at the music sheet before him. His fingers ran across the keys in a fluid motion, copying the melodious tune he once heard.
A short gasp came from his aunt. "W-where did you learn this?"
Devon stopped his playing as he heard a choked cry come from his aunt. He turned around, confused by his aunt's sudden emotional breakdown. "Why are you crying?"
"How did you learn this song? I only use to play it when you were little and restless with sleep," she cried softly. "You couldn't possibly remember."
A smile formed on Devon's lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "So that's where I remember it from."
"How?" she whispered, haunted by the resounding memory. An array of happiness and agony washed over her tortured body.
Eight years had passed since she left Forks, Washington. Eight years had passed since he left her. Eight years had passed since she moved on with her life—but not quite.
Devon shrugged, gathering his things, leaving behind the forgotten music sheet. "Instructor Cullen played it earlier." He got up from the bench and began to walk down the aisles. "He taught me it just before you arrived."