🎼 The Last Song

Chapter 1 — Promises You Never Think You’ll Have to Keep

Éloi had always been the quiet one in the family. Not shy, just… reserved. Music was his refuge, his language. He had been playing guitar since he was twelve, but he never dared to perform on stage.
His older brother, Thomas, was the opposite: outgoing, talkative, always confident. Together, they made an unlikely but inseparable duo.

One winter evening, at the hospital, Thomas, weakened by illness, whispered to him:
— “Promise me you’ll write our song. The one we never had time to finish.”
Éloi said “Yes” to please him, convinced they still had time.

Chapter 2 — The Unfinished Lyrics

Time didn’t come back.
After the funeral, Éloi found himself alone in his brother’s empty apartment. In a drawer, among old photos and a yellowed concert ticket, he found a black notebook. Inside: a few hastily scribbled lines, some crossed-out words, and an incomplete chorus.

The first sentence read:

“If one day I leave, promise me you’ll still sing.”

Chapter 3 — The Shadow of Silence

Months passed. Éloi tried to write... but nothing came. Every note sounded hollow, every word felt false. He wondered if this song should even exist, or if it was just an impossible symbol to reach.

One evening, coming home late, he turned on his answering machine. Thomas’s voice, in an old forgotten message, echoed in the room:
— “Stop being afraid of your voice, Lolo. It’s beautiful. You’re just the one who doesn’t know it.”

Chapter 4 — The Stage

One year to the day after the promise, Éloi stepped onto a small open mic stage at a bar.
His hands were trembling. The room was half empty.
He placed the black notebook on the stand, took a deep breath, and played the chords he had finally found. Thomas’s words were there, intertwined with those Éloi had written.

When he finished, silence settled… then timid but sincere applause. Éloi didn’t cry. Not really. But his eyes shone.

Chapter 5 — The Song Lives On

He never recorded it.
The song wasn’t meant for radios or streaming platforms. It belonged to Thomas, and to all those who had loved without being able to say goodbye.

Sometimes, in the small venues where he now plays, Éloi still sings it. He always looks at the empty seat in the front row, and whispers:
— “There, it’s finished.”