Her body was used to the cello, used to the vibrations that would surge through her body as she played. The guitar felt foreign but not unpleasant in her calloused fingers. She felt him behind her, his arms surrounding her as she played.
After the accident, she went back to the cello, forgetting everything except the feelings for a boy she barely knew. The doctors said that it was normal to forget things after her condition, but she wanted to scream at them that it wasn't okay, that this would never be okay.
She had listened to the iPod, her and Tripp's voices a constant reminder of what she had lost. Tripp sat with her everyday, answering all of the questions she had. How had they become friends? When did she start singing with him?
But the one question she never asked was the one that ate at her most. What did she mean to him? Were they just friends? Were they on the way to being something more?
After a whole year had passed, she had no answers. He was patient with her, encouraging her to pick the guitar up again. It took her 14 months. She was scared. What if it wasn't the same as it once was, back in the blur of her life that she couldn't quite piece together?
But there she was, strumming lightly, her heart positively thrumming. His arms went around her waist, hugging her gently. She felt lucky. The memories may never come back, but she still had him.
She didn't know what she once felt, but she knew her feelings now. He was the light in her days, the one who made her laugh when she was about to cry. He was there for her through thick and thin and everything in between. She felt the connection the moment she saw him.
Everything else in the world was blurry but Tripp was clear. And maybe that's what really counted.