We Buy Instruments ❲UPDATED ⇒❳

When he finished, the silence was louder than the music. Elias was breathing hard, his fingers stinging.

The sign was hand-painted, the gold leaf peeling like sunburnt skin. It hung above a shop so narrow it felt like a mistake between two brick buildings. it screamed in faded block letters.

He sat. He tucked the cello between his knees. The familiar weight felt like a punch to the gut. He drew the bow across the C-string. we buy instruments

The bell chimed with a dissonant clink . Behind the counter sat a woman who looked like she was made of parchment and cello resin. She didn’t look up from a disassembled flute. "I’m looking to sell," Elias said, his voice cracking.

The woman pointed a screwdriver at a velvet-lined stool. "Open it." When he finished, the silence was louder than the music

"I don't buy furniture, Mr. Vance," she said, knowing his name without being told. "I buy instruments. And an instrument isn't an instrument unless it’s making a sound. Prove it works."

"Because you're not selling a cello," she said, returning to her flute. "You're trying to sell your soul so you don't have to feel anything. Come back when you’re ready to sell me a trumpet you actually hate. Until then, get that beautiful thing out of my shop before I charge you for the concert." It hung above a shop so narrow it

Elias unzipped the case. The mahogany glowed, even in the dim shop light. It was a beautiful, haunting thing. The woman finally looked up. Her eyes weren't on the wood, but on Elias’s hands. "Why?" she asked.