Chapter 2

The cheap pizza, the late nights, the shared dreams – it all felt like a lifetime ago, but also like yesterday.

It wasn't Lucas in that old video, not really.

Not the Lucas she first loved.

Ava closed her eyes, and the image of Mateo Diaz surfaced, vibrant and real.

Lucas' s identical twin.

They met at a community arts center in Queens, a place buzzing with raw talent and hopeful energy.

Mateo, with his worn guitar and a voice that could make you cry, a poet' s heart.

Ava, with notebooks full of lyrics and melodies humming in her head.

They clicked instantly, a shared language of music and dreams.

Open mic nights became their stage.

Mateo sang, his guitar an extension of his soul, and Ava' s words took flight.

A young Jamal "Jay" Carter, a friend of Mateo' s from the neighborhood, was always there.

He had an old camcorder, filming everything for a personal blog project about aspiring artists in NYC.

"You guys are magic," Jay would say, his face lit by the viewfinder. "Pure magic."

Mateo would just grin, his arm around Ava. "She's the magic, Jay. I just play the tunes."

They were going to make it, together.

Their magnum opus, a song they poured their hearts into, was "Brooklyn Lullaby."

Mateo' s melody, Ava' s lyrics, a love letter to their city, their struggles, their hope.

Then, a hit-and-run.

A screech of tires, a flash of headlights, and Mateo was gone.

Just like that. Before anyone outside their small circle knew his name, his music.

The magic died that night. Or so Ava thought.

Jay' s footage, those precious recordings, became painful relics.