I'd come to the rehearsal tonight hoping to keep my mind occupied. It was the only way to stop it from spiraling, from dwelling on Lucy and everything that had happened. Thinking about her-her-was too bloody painful. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut every time her name came up, and the silence in her absence was deafening. So, I showed up, guitar in hand, hoping to do something-anything-to keep my head from falling apart.

Rehearsals always had a certain energy, a chaotic rhythm that somehow worked. But tonight at Paul's house, everything felt off. The absence of Lucy was like a missing string on George's guitar-something essential that made the whole thing hum.

She was always there, our Devi, as George affectionately called her. Always with the kettle on, always gifting us with words of encouragement, or sitting cross-legged on the floor, her eyes alight with mischief and focus as she listened to us practice. Lucy wasn't just a friend; she was the glue that held us together when the world got too loud. And now, the silence in her absence felt overwhelming.

Paul's younger brother, Mike, lingered near the doorway, trying to keep out of the way but too curious to leave. Uncle Jim was in the kitchen, humming a tune as he kept himself busy. The old man adored Lucy, always calling her his "Island Princess" because of her Ceylonese roots, sunny personality, and quick wit. Both Mike and Uncle Jim had been surprised by Lucy's absence tonight. Paul had quickly made up an excuse, saying Lucy couldn't come because of work early the next morning.

I plucked at my guitar absentmindedly, my fingers stumbling over the chords for "I Should Have Known Better." Paul had picked it for the rehearsal, but I couldn't focus. My voice cracked on the opening line.

Paul didn't say anything, just played along, his head down like he was lost in thought. Normally, he'd give me one of his sharp looks, the kind that said, Come on, Lennon, sort it out. But tonight, he didn't.

Even George, usually the quiet perfectionist, seemed off his game. He sighed, set his guitar down, and leaned back in his chair. "This is pointless, lads."

"Reckon you're right," Ringo agreed, fiddling with his drumsticks. His usual cheer was gone, replaced with a muted solemnity that didn't suit him. "We shouldn't have bothered. Not without her."

I didn't respond. I just lit a cigarette and stared at the smoke curling upwards.

Paul glanced at me from behind his piano, his face unreadable. He knew, of course. He knew that bastard-Krishna Kumar-had hurt her. But George and Ringo didn't know the full story, and I wasn't about to tell them.

George broke the silence. "We should go and see her."

I looked up sharply. "No."

"Why not?" he asked, his tone gentle but insistent. "Devi's our mate too. We're all worried sick about her."

"She doesn't know you know," I said quickly, my voice sharper than I intended. Under normal circumstances, those words-sounding like a tongue-twister-would've made the lads laugh, me joining in with their playful banter. But nothing was normal anymore. Not without Lucy.

"She'd hate it if you lot turned up out of the blue," I added, more forcefully this time.

George frowned, clearly puzzled. "Why would she hate it? It's not like we're strangers. She's always fussin' over us, makin' sure we're alright."

"That's Lucy, innit?" Ringo said with a small smile. "Always takin' care of everyone else. Makes you feel like you're the most important person in the room."

I couldn't argue with that. She had this way of making you believe you mattered, that you were the only one who did in her eyes. But right now, she wouldn't want them to see her like this. Not bruised and battered in a hospital bed, her usual fire dimmed. She'd hate the pity in their eyes, the awkwardness filling the air.

"Just leave it, alright?" I said, more forcefully. "She's got enough people fussin' over her already."

"Who?" George asked, narrowing his eyes. "Her parents?"

"And someone else," I muttered before I could stop myself.

The room went still.

"Someone else?" Paul repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Paul, sharp as ever, caught on quickly. "Crowther... You're talkin' about him, aren't you?"

I was surprised he remembered his name. I'd told him yesterday, in a moment of weakness, that Crowther was the one Lucy needed. Crowther's name had slipped out before I could think better of it.

"Crowther?" Ringo echoed, his forehead creasing. "Who the hell's Crowther?"

"He's a teacher at that grammar school Paul used to go to," I said, trying to sound casual. "Lucy and him are neighbours. They're... close."

Paul's mouth fell open. "Close? Since when?"

"Does it matter?" I snapped.

"Yeah, it bloody does!" Paul shot back. "You're actin' like she's already picked him or somethin'. But she hasn't, has she?"

"How do you know?" I muttered, taking another drag from my cigarette.

"Because it's Linda, mate!" Paul said, his voice rising. "Your Lucy... She's been by your side for years. You think she'd trade that in for some random fella?"

I didn't answer. My Lucy... Those two words felt comforting. I wished, more than anything, that they were true.

"You daft git," George said, shaking his head. "You love her. It's obvious to everyone. And you know it too, John."

The weight of their words sat heavy on my chest. I flicked my cigarette into the ashtray, the embers dying out. The silence stretched long enough to feel suffocating.

Then, almost without thinking, I picked up my guitar again. The chords came softly at first, my fingers moving as if by instinct. The tune had been sitting in my chest all evening, waiting to escape.

The lads watched me, their instruments forgotten. The melody curled out of the guitar, a low, mournful hum. And then, as if someone else was guiding me, the words came too.

"Here I sit, feelin' small... Can't seem to stand, afraid I'll fall..."

The lads exchanged uneasy glances, startled by the rawness of it all. Ringo stopped twirling his drumsticks, leaning forward slightly. Paul tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

I winced. "Nah, that's rubbish," I muttered, shaking my head.

"It's not," George said quietly. "Keep goin'."

I strummed the chords again, the tune winding tighter around me. The refrain came clearer this time, almost fully formed.

"Hey... You've got to hide your love away..."

The words hung in the room, raw and aching. Paul opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, letting the melody linger. Even he didn't want to break the spell.

I glanced at the lads. The silence stretched between us, heavy and unspoken. The house still felt hollow without her, but for the first time all evening, it didn't feel entirely hopeless. I hummed the refrain one last time, letting it settle in my chest. Then I set the guitar aside.

The melody stayed with me. It wasn't much, not yet. But it mattered.

Finally, I straightened up and took a deep breath.

"I'll try and see her," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "See if she's okay with... you lads coming too."

George raised an eyebrow, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "But not tonight. We'll have to wait until tomorrow morning. We'll go see her then."

Ringo grinned, a small smile breaking through the tension. "Good on ya, Johnny."

And with that, we stood up together. The room, still empty without her, seemed less hollow now. The weight in my chest didn't entirely lift, but I somehow got the comforting feeling there was a way forward.

We were going to see her.

I was going to see her.

It wasn't foolishness, what I felt. I couldn't be so naive as to think Lucy would suddenly fall in love with me as if nothing had happened. She'd told me, in her soft, fragile voice, that she wasn't in love with Crowther. But I wasn't blind, and neither was she. She'd made her choice. She needed someone steady, someone who could give her the stability I couldn't offer. I wasn't that person.

But that didn't stop my heart from aching. It didn't stop me from yearning to be close to her.

Maybe she'd change her mind. Maybe she'd realize Crowther was just a safe option, a man who could offer her security, not the wild love I had for her. I loved her, deeply. But love alone wasn't enough, not when she needed something more than passion and chaos.

I'd heard the words she said. She wasn't in love with Crowther-not yet, anyway. But that could change. And if it did, I couldn't fault her for it. She deserved to have someone who could offer her the life she craved. The kind of life I couldn't provide.

But she would always be mine, in my heart. That would never change.

I was ready to give her away to Crowther. If that's what it took to see her safe, to see her happy, then I'd let her go. But this wasn't the last time I would see her.

No.

I had to see her, one more time. For me. For the ache inside me that refused to let go. Because no matter what happened, she'd always be the one I loved.