Ohna Pau

One More Song

People say life has a funny way of making strangers disappear.

Sometimes you meet someone once...

And never see them again.

I told myself that would probably be the case.

After all...

He was just a guitarist in a small café.

And I was just another customer.

So I left that night carrying nothing more than a paper bag with half a slice of cheesecake and a melody that refused to leave my head.

Monday came.

Work.

Emails.

Meetings.

Traffic.

Life slowly returned to normal.

Or at least...

It tried to.

Because every now and then, I'd catch myself humming the song he played that night.

"To Whom It May Concern."

I found myself listening to it on the way to work.

Again during lunch.

Then once more before going to bed.

It was ridiculous.

I didn't even know the guitarist's name.

Yet somehow...

Every time the song played, I could picture him sitting beneath that flickering spotlight, laughing whenever he missed a chord.

A week passed.

Then another.

I never went back.

Not because I didn't want to.

I just didn't think he'd still be there.

Some moments are meant to stay exactly where they happened.

Untouched.

Perfect.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?"

I looked up from my coffee.

My best friend was staring at me with a knowing smile.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The café guitarist."

"...I don't know his name."

"You don't have to know his name."

I sighed.

"I just liked listening to him."

"Mhm."

"And the cheesecake was good."

She laughed.

"Sure. It was definitely the cheesecake."

I rolled my eyes.

"It was."

"If you say so."

She took another sip of her drink before casually adding,

"He's playing again this Friday."

I blinked.

"What?"

"The café posted about it yesterday."

"...You follow their page?"

"I follow cafés."

"Liar."

"I also follow handsome musicians."

I couldn't help laughing.

"You should go."

I looked down at my coffee.

"I don't know...What if he doesn't remember me?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"You stayed until his last song."

"So?"

"So maybe..."

She smiled.

"...he remembers the girl who stayed."

Friday came faster than I expected.

By seven in the evening...

I found myself standing in front of the same little café.

The warm lights spilled onto the pavement.

The familiar scent of coffee drifted through the open door.

I could already hear soft laughter from inside.

I don't know why my heart was racing.

Maybe I was just curious.

Maybe I wanted to hear that song again.

Or maybe...

I wanted to know if he really remembered me.

Taking a deep breath...

I reached for the door.

Before I could push it open,

Someone inside spoke.

"I was wondering if you'd come back."

My hand froze.

That voice...

The Last Song

There was something oddly comforting about small cafés.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

The soft chatter of strangers.

The occasional clink of ceramic cups.

And somewhere in the corner...

A young man sat on a wooden stool, an old acoustic guitar resting on his lap.

The stage wasn't really a stage.

Just a small wooden platform beneath a single spotlight that flickered every now and then.

No screaming fans.

No cameras.

No blinding lights.

Just enough room for one musician...

and a dream.

I didn't even know his name.

I had only come because my best friend insisted the café served the best New York cheesecake in the city.

She wasn't wrong.

But somewhere between my first bite and my second sip of coffee...

I stopped paying attention to the cheesecake.

Instead...

I found myself listening to someone who sang as though every lyric carried a piece of his heart.

He wasn't perfect.

He laughed whenever he missed a chord.

He quietly apologized every time his fingers slipped across the strings.

Somehow...

That made him even more endearing.

One song became two.

Two became five.

Before I knew it, the slice of cheesecake on my plate had long been forgotten.

By the time he announced his last song, almost everyone had already left.

The café that had once been full was nearly empty.

A couple sat quietly by the window.

An elderly man folded the last page of his newspaper.

The barista wiped down the counter.

And me.

Still sitting in the same chair.

Still watching him.

He glanced around the room before letting out a small smile.

"I guess this one's for the person who stayed."

The café fell silent.

His fingers brushed gently against the strings.

The melody was soft.

Almost fragile.

The kind of song that makes you miss someone you've never even met.

Then I recognized it.

"To Whom It May Concern" by The Civil Wars.

My breath caught.

It wasn't exactly a popular song.

It was the kind of song people stumbled upon by accident and quietly kept to themselves.

It had been living in my head for months, like a secret I never told anyone.

Hearing someone else play it...

It felt strangely personal.

As though, for a few minutes, we shared the same quiet corner of the world.

When the final note faded...

Silence lingered for a heartbeat.

Then I began to clap.

Not loudly.

Not because anyone else was doing it.

Simply because I believed he deserved to be applauded.

He looked surprised.

Almost embarrassed.

A shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Thank you," he said with a small laugh.

"That really means a lot."

I smiled.

"You were really good."

"I still missed three chords."

"I didn't notice."

"You would've if you played guitar."

"I don't."

He chuckled.

"Then maybe that's why."

I laughed too.

For a moment...

We were just two strangers sharing a conversation that felt oddly easy.

As I stood to leave, I glanced back one last time.

He was carefully placing his guitar into a worn-out case, handling it as though it were the most precious thing he owned.

For reasons I couldn't explain...

I hoped I'd hear him play again.

I didn't know that night would become one of my favourite memories.

I didn't know it would be years before I'd see him again.

And I certainly didn't know...