Chapter Text
Four years ago
Christopher Brandon swirled his glass of scotch, his eyes drifting towards the entrance of the Dorset Lounge every few seconds. The soft piano music and the low murmur of conversation lent the place its usual charm, but his patience was wearing thin. He checked his watch again. Thirty minutes late. No message. No explanation. He’d made several attempts to reach her, but nothing had broken the silence.
With a frustrated sigh, he leaned back in his chair. Another well-meaning disaster. This was it. He’d promised himself this would be the last time he’d allow his business partner and good friend John Middleton’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, to play matchmaker. She was kind-hearted, no doubt, but for twelve years she’d made it her mission to find him a wife. From the moment they met at John and Mary’s wedding, she’d been on a crusade. Her first ploy came that night, pushing her youngest daughter Charlotte at the reception itself.
Normally, Christopher could deflect her efforts with a polite smile and an excuse, but this time, he’d been blindsided. Mrs. Jennings had been relentless, practically insisting that he meet her niece Anne, who was only in town for the weekend. And now, here he was, nursing a drink and waiting alone.
He tipped back the last of the amber liquid, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. He stood—too quickly—deciding it was time to cut his losses. There was little point in wasting another minute on someone who clearly had no respect for his time. As he shrugged into his jacket, ready to leave the lounge’s warmth behind, a sharp, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise.
“Christopher!”
The sound was piercing, unmistakable, and had a bite to it that made him freeze mid-motion. He turned, furrowing his brow as he scanned the crowd, trying to locate the source.
“Christopher?” The voice rang out again, closer this time. He turned, startled.
And there she was.
A whirlwind of nervous energy came rushing toward him, practically tripping over her own words.
“Hi! I’m Anne—Anne Steele. I am so sorry I’m late—oh my goodness, what a night it’s been! Have you been waiting long? Of course you have. I’m so sorry. And the traffic… unreal! I’ve never seen anything like it! And then my phone—one minute it’s fine, the next, poof, it just dies on me! I’m terrible with technology. Can you believe it?”
She was talking faster than he could process, her words tumbling out in a rush of embarrassment and excitement.
“I honestly thought I’d never make it, but here I am! Oh gosh, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I do that when I’m nervous, you know?”
She paused, taking a quick, shallow breath as her hands fluttered about straightening her top, fiddling with her bag, and brushing hair behind her ear. Her energy practically buzzed in the air around her.
“Sorry about that... So! Christopher, it’s so nice to finally meet you! Oh wow, I love your jacket. Such a smart-looking jacket for such a smart-looking, handsome beau. How are you?”
Christopher stared at Anne, his mind struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire barrage of words she’d just unleashed. It felt as if she had a script and was determined to deliver every line in record time. He opened his mouth, then closed it. After what felt like an eternity, he blinked and finally found his voice. “I’m well, thank you. It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Steele.”
His gaze sharpened with subtle scrutiny. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, attractive in a way that didn’t turn heads but wasn’t easily forgotten either. There was a studied polish to her appearance that didn’t quite land. Her makeup was just a touch too precise, with smoky eyes ringed in thick black liner and lips glossed to a high shine. Her blonde hair, likely over-bleached, fell in carefully styled waves, the kind of look that felt copied rather than effortless.
Her clothes were undeniably fashionable, but something about them felt forced, as if she were clinging a little too tightly to the latest trends.
“Miss Steele? How chivalrous,” Anne teased, her playful grin wide as they sat down, her voice light and flirtatious. “Shall I call you Mr. Brandon, then?”
Before he could reply, the server arrived to take their orders, and Christopher’s attention shifted. The brief interruption seemed to soften his demeanor, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“A second scotch for me, please,” he said, then glanced back at Anne. “And for you?”
“Cosmopolitan,” she answered with a flick of her hand, her tone still laced with a touch of mischief. As the server departed, she settled back into her seat, eyes bright with amusement.
“So, Mr. Brandon,” she began again, drawing out his title, “what’s the story behind such serious manners?”
“No, forgive me,” he responded quickly, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Old habits die hard. My father was strict about manners and etiquette when I was growing up, and my time in the military only reinforced that need for order. It’s carried over both into my work and my personal life.” He paused, offering her a polite but distant smile. “Christopher is fine, really.”
Anne raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. “A man of discipline and duty,” she teased. “I suppose that makes you even more intriguing, Christopher.”
He shifted slightly in his seat, giving her his full attention, though he felt a subtle discomfort creeping in at her continued flirtation. “I’m glad you made it after all the delays. So, tell me about yourself, Anne. What do you do for a living?”
His tone was polite, genuine in its interest, but there was no trace of flirtation. He spoke more like he would to a colleague rather than a date. He wanted to make conversation, but he kept his distance, consciously avoiding anything that might encourage more flirting.
“I’m a real estate agent!” Anne exclaimed, her hands flitting through the air as if illustrating her words. “Oh, it’s just a madhouse right now! Houses are flying off the market in days. My poor buyers really struggle to win bids. They try everything, but then some developer swoops in with cash, waives inspections, and poof! It’s gone. But for my sellers?” She snapped her fingers with a grin. “Cha-ching!”
Christopher raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Sounds like quite the hustle. Must keep you busy,” he replied, keeping his tone light, but slightly distant.
“What about you?” she asked quickly, eager to shift the focus. “Well, my aunt told me about the company you run with John. It sounds so fancy and exciting, being the boss and all. We’re kind of similar in a way, you know? I don’t punch a clock either. I’ve got to keep my clients happy, or I don’t get paid! But anyway, tell me more about it!”
He gave a modest shrug. “There’s not much to tell, really. We develop software that helps small and mid-size businesses run more securely and efficiently.”
He kept it brief on purpose, learning that too much information either invited confusion or opened the door to more interest than he intended to encourage.
Anne nodded thoughtfully, though the comparison between her real estate hustle and his tech business was starting to feel a little forced. "Sounds... important," she said with a smile, clearly trying to relate. “But I can’t say I’m familiar with the software.”
Christopher nodded, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. “Yes, that’s part of the problem. For years, we’ve been overpaying our marketing agency, and despite the generous retainer, they’ve failed to increase our market saturation as much as we’d expected. We’ve spent the last several weeks reviewing their work while also meeting with other agencies, and I think we’re finally ready to drop them and sign on with someone new.”
Anne’s eyes widened slightly as she processed his words. “That sounds like a headache,” she said sympathetically, her tone still light. “I can see why you’d want to move on. At least it sounds like you’re making progress.” She gave him a polite smile, then brightened, her energy shifting. “Oh! I think it’s about to start!” she exclaimed, gesturing toward the stage. “Have you ever been to one of these? Velvet Mic nights are so much fun!”
“I can’t say I have,” Christopher replied, his smile pleasant but neutral. He’d been to this lounge a few times—mostly when Mrs. Jennings dragged him along for her matchmaking schemes—but never for this event.
“It’s great!” Anne said, clearly excited. “First off, not just anybody can perform. They still have to audition, so it’s not like we’re going to get any duds or anything. That’s what karaoke bars are for, right?” She laughed at her own joke, clearly amused.
Christopher gave a polite chuckle.
“They send in an audition video, I think,” she continued, “and then they pick the best ten or so to perform live. After that, we—the audience—get to vote for our favorite, and the winner gets to open here for a whole month!”
“It does sound interesting,” he said, genuinely curious, though still mostly going along with the conversation as the server returned with their drinks.
“Cheers!” Anne said brightly, raising her glass. They clinked glasses, and just then, the lounge lights dimmed slightly as the first performer took the stage, drawing the room’s attention.
Marianne Dashwood paced the small green room backstage, her mind racing as anxiety knotted her stomach. The other performers chatted and warmed up around her, their voices blurring into background noise. Last. How on earth had she ended up last? The order was supposed to be random, but last? By the time she took the stage, the audience would be restless, their attention dulled by everything that came before.
It was maddening.
What she wouldn’t give for some moral support. But Elinor was swamped with work, chasing down a new account. Marianne hadn’t even had the chance to tell her about the contest. Their mother and younger sister, Meg, were off touring universities, swept up in plans for a future still uncertain. And here she was on her own, about to bare her soul to a room full of strangers.
In the end, she hadn’t told anyone, not even her colleagues at school. The idea of them watching her perform made her uneasy. The other faculty members had been kind enough since she started her first full year, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t exactly belong. She was the youngest teacher on staff, and the youngest English literature teacher they’d ever hired.
Full of fresh enthusiasm, she’d been eager to share her love of classic literature with her students—and even with the staff—but most of them seemed worn out, dulled by years of teaching teenagers and managing entitled parents.
Besides, they had lives. Real ones. Spouses, kids—the kind of steady, rooted existence she was still trying to imagine for herself. She wasn’t married, nor did she have children. The closest thing to a relationship was an on-again, off-again boyfriend from her university years who never showed up when it counted. She could never seem to connect with the others in any meaningful way.
No, it was better to face this challenge alone, in front of strangers she’d likely never see again, especially if she completely bombed. She wasn’t about to let anyone who knew her see her flounder.
As the minutes ticked by, the green room emptied, the last few performers finishing their turns and drifting off to wait for the results elsewhere. Soon, she was alone, her nervous energy spiking with every passing second. She stood frozen, fighting the urge to turn and walk away and just disappear into the shadows and pretend none of this had ever happened.
Then the stage manager appeared at the door, her voice firm and final.
“It’s time.”
Marianne’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to breathe. She glanced at her reflection one last time, smoothing a few stubborn curls and adjusting the simple black evening gown that felt both elegant and somehow too much. It was too late to back out now. She squared her shoulders, wiped the nervous tremor from her hands, and stepped into the spotlight.
“Let’s hear it for Miss Katrina!” boomed Miles, the lounge's host, his voice cutting cleanly through the warm applause. “Wasn’t she lovely? And what a voice! Now, folks, it’s that time. The final performance is upon us! And, to mix things up a bit, the lovely lady has asked to do her own accompaniment! So, let’s give a big round of applause for our outstanding pianist, James!”
The audience clapped again, a murmur of curiosity rippling through the crowd. Christopher adjusted his posture, only half-listening. He had no idea who the final performer was, but something in the room had changed—a subtle hush, a sharpening of attention. He glanced toward the stage, more out of habit than interest, unaware of what was about to hit him.
“And finally, last but not least,” Miles’s voice rang out, rising above the soft murmur of the crowd, “on both vocals and her own piano accompaniment, is Miss Marianne performing ‘Without You.’”
Christopher froze. It had been years, long and aching ones, since he’d heard that song. The melody would stir the memories, but it was the lyrics that hit hardest, flooding his mind with moments he tried to keep buried.
He glanced over at Anne, absorbed in her phone, tapping away in frustration. She didn’t notice the shift in him.
For a moment, he considered getting up. Slipping out to the men’s room. Anywhere to avoid what he knew was coming. But then he looked back toward the stage and saw her.
Miss Marianne, as Miles had called her, was nothing short of breathtaking.
She looked younger than the others, much younger than most of the performers or patrons in the lounge. Her long, curly hair shimmered in a soft, natural blonde shade with subtle golden highlights catching the light. Pinned neatly on the right side, the curls spilled over her left shoulder, coming to rest just near the crook of her elbow. There was something ethereal about the way it framed her face.
Her makeup was simple but refined, enhancing her delicate features without drawing attention to itself. Bright blue eyes swept the room, pausing briefly when they met his. A shy smile tugged at her lips as she stepped fully onto the stage, and with a graceful curtsey, she took her seat at the piano.
Her gown stood in stark contrast to the more daring, figure-hugging dresses of the other performers. Elegant and understated, the top was black lace, sheer and delicate, flowing into a skirt that swayed gently with her every movement. There was something unexpectedly graceful and composed about her presence that captured his attention before he could stop it. Feeling like an intruder, he cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to wander elsewhere. The last thing he needed was to be caught staring, especially when she seemed so much younger than him.
Taking her seat at the piano, she angled herself slightly so the right side of her face—uncovered by her hairstyle and turned toward the audience—remained visible. Her fingers hovered over the keys for just a moment before she began to play the opening notes.
He sat motionless as he watched her. Her eyes drifted shut, her face angled toward the microphone, and then without hesitation, she sang. Her voice was clear and restrained at first, as if she were holding back the full force of it on purpose. Her delivery was expressive and honest, without leaning on overdone flourishes. Without warning, it enraptured him. The room fell away, and all he could do was listen.
No I can't forget this evening
Or your face as you were leaving
But I guess that's just the way
The story goes
You always smile but in your eyes
Your sorrow shows
Yes it shows
Christopher was completely transfixed by her performance, as was the rest of the audience. The murmur of conversation faded into the background, replaced by the soft harmony of the piano and her voice. It was as if the world had shrunk down to just this moment—him, the song, and her.
Her fingers glided over the piano keys with natural grace, as though the music was an extension of her. But it was her voice that truly held him. Rich, clear, and pure, it dipped seamlessly between the high and lower notes, each one flowing with remarkable ease. There was warmth in her tone, a depth that made each note an emotion she was experiencing in real time.
The entire room had fallen silent, hanging on every note. Even Anne, who had been distracted moments before, now sat still, her phone forgotten, completely captivated.
For Christopher, time seemed to stretch, as if it had paused altogether. The chatter, the clinking of glasses, even the unease he’d felt earlier had all faded away. There was only her, the song, and the memory of a time when hearing it had meant everything to him. But now, as he listened, the sorrow it once stirred seemed irrelevant. She’d transformed it, replacing the pain it now brought with hope.
He leaned forward, hopelessly entranced, the performance taking a piece of him he hadn’t willingly offered. It was dangerous, he knew. She was nothing like the women he normally met—louder, glossier, always eager to impress.
Marianne didn’t seem to be trying to impress anyone. There was something open and real about her presence. And she wasn’t the kind of woman he’d typically notice, not because she wasn’t striking, but because he’d long since stopped looking.
For now, he didn’t overthink it. He just listened. And watched.
I can't live
If living is without you
I can't give
I can't give anymore
Marianne released the final notes of the song, her fingers slowing over the keys as the last chords faded into the air. For a breathless moment, there was only silence. Then, without warning, the lounge erupted in applause.
Whistles, cheers, a few calls for an encore—the response crashed over her like a wave. She stood motionless, heart pounding. She had expected polite clapping, maybe a few kind words. But this? It was so wholehearted, it left her momentarily stunned.
Turning toward the audience, she scanned the sea of faces, still processing the moment when her eyes landed on him. About fifteen feet away, stood a tall, handsome man, clapping with a smile that was warm and full of admiration. But it wasn’t just his smile that caught her attention. There was something more, something in his eyes that drew her in. They shone with an intense longing she’d only seen in films. A sadness that cut deep, the kind that left a wound that never entirely healed.
Before she could let herself dwell on the thought, Miles was at her side, breaking through the moment. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, Marianne!” He clapped her on the back, his praise ringing in her ears. “That was a performance for the books! You’ve got the whole room in your hands! Congratulations!”
Still reeling from the applause and the unexpected connection she felt, Marianne smiled politely, grateful but overwhelmed by the attention.
“Wow, that was absolutely spectacular! Thank you, Miss Marianne!” Miles’s voice rang out as she made her way backstage, his enthusiasm unmistakable. “I daresay, I think we may not even need a vote to determine the winner. You’ve certainly stolen the show!” The audience responded with another burst of applause, louder and more insistent this time.
“But, of course, we still need to follow protocol,” he continued, his voice shifting to a slightly more formal tone. “Please take a moment to scan the cards at the center of your tables and cast your vote for your favorite performer!”
Backstage, still reeling from the overwhelming applause, Marianne was met by the other performers, who were waiting to congratulate her. They hadn’t spoken much before, but now they were all praising her. “That was incredible!” one of them said. “You completely owned the room,” added another.
She smiled and thanked them graciously, but inwardly, doubt crept in. As generous as their praise was, she couldn’t shake the thought that others had performed just as well. Maybe even better. Did I really deserve this? The applause, the attention… it all felt like too much.
As the performers mingled backstage, James played a few soft numbers on the piano, filling the space with gentle background music while the audience cast their votes. Marianne tried to collect herself, tuning in to the nervous chatter and pacing footsteps around her. A few minutes later, the performers were called back on stage to await the final results.
“Well, I’ve never seen this before,” Miles said with a tone of surprise, once the performers were called back onstage. “With a stunning ninety percent of the vote, the winner is... Miss Marianne!” He flashed a broad smile, gesturing for her to step forward. “Come on up, my dear!”
For a split second, Marianne froze. Her thoughts tumbled over one another as the applause swelled around her, loud and surreal—certainly meant for someone else. Ninety percent of the vote? How was that possible? Her legs felt unsteady, her disbelief mixing with shock. She hadn’t expected anything like this.
She forced herself to move, her feet carrying her forward on instinct. But then she saw him again. The same man from the crowd who seemed so moved by her performance. This time, he wasn’t just a face in the blur; he was watching her, openly, with that same intense gaze.
Their eyes met. The noise around them seemed to fade. His smile was quiet, sincere, his expression marked by a warmth that couldn’t completely hide the sadness beneath it. Without meaning to, Marianne smiled back—tentative, unsure, but genuine. Whatever passed between them in that moment didn’t need words. The connection was unmistakable and undeniably real.
But before she could read between the lines, Miles motioned her toward the center of the stage. Still trying to steady herself, Marianne stepped forward. The applause swelled, and warmth rose to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowd, their smiles and cheers washing over her.
“Thank you,” she managed, her voice unsteady despite her effort to stay composed. The crowd’s reaction still didn’t feel real. She had never imagined a moment like this. And yet, even as the applause grew, her thoughts kept drifting back to that man.
Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?
Miles, oblivious to her internal whirlwind, continued on with his usual enthusiasm. “As you all know, Miss Marianne will be joining us this May as our featured artist! She’ll be performing every Thursday and Saturday for the entire month, right here at the Dorset Lounge!” The crowd cheered again, and Marianne did her best to smile through the unexpected swell of pride.
“And don’t forget, our Velvet Mic contest will be back in September. If you think you’ve got the talent to take the stage, be sure to check out the details for sending in your audition video!”
Another round of applause erupted, but before Marianne could fully take it in, Miles turned toward her, taking her hand and lifting it high in triumph. She gave a modest bow, her pulse still racing, her thoughts not yet caught up with everything happening around her.
“Thank you again for supporting such an incredible night of talent,” Miles said, his voice warm with sincerity. “Let’s hear it one more time for Miss Marianne!”
The applause continued to roll over her, and Marianne smiled, trying to stay grounded. But as the noise began to fade, her gaze, seemingly of its own accord, returned to the man. This time, she noticed he wasn’t alone. A woman sat beside him, absorbed in her phone, seemingly oblivious to the scene unfolding around her.
Of course he was here with someone.
Marianne clocked the woman beside him again, still staring at her phone, unmoved by the evening’s events. She felt a flash of irrational envy rise in her chest and immediately tried to snuff it out. He was probably married. Happily, sensibly married. Her mind wasted no time painting the picture. A quiet house somewhere, two boys and twin girls already tucked in by the nanny while their parents slipped out for a date night.
She forced a smile, reminding herself to stay present. This was her moment. It had nothing to do with some stranger in the crowd.
And yet, something tugged at her. If he truly was spoken for, what kind of man looked at a stranger like that, as if she meant something? The thought gave her pause. Maybe she’d misread it. Maybe that look was nothing. But part of her, stubborn and reckless, hoped it wasn’t.
She shook her head at herself. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
Still, she found herself searching for a wedding ring. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but suddenly, it did. She leaned ever so slightly to the side, trying to catch a better view. His hands rested on the table, relaxed, but from where she stood, she couldn’t tell.
What if he’s not married? What if he’s just waiting for the right moment to—
She quickly dismissed the thought, shame nipping at the edges of her mind.
Why did it even matter?
With a quick, graceful bow to the crowd, Marianne was led backstage, the applause still ringing in her ears. She focused on the excitement of the moment—the win, the upcoming month of performances. But in the back of her mind, that brief spark with the man in the crowd remained, despite her best attempts to extinguish it.
As she walked into the back office, she breathed a small sigh, looking at the stack of papers in front of her. The paperwork she was required to fill out for her showcase was a much-needed distraction. She focused on the details of her upcoming performance schedule. These were things she could control, things that felt real.
The rest? It could wait.
Christopher’s heart jolted when her eyes briefly met his. The moment was fleeting, but something in her gaze caught and held. And her clear and melodic voice, still echoing in his head, he’d never forget it. When she bowed and slipped offstage, there was a grace to it that struck him more than he expected. He didn’t need to think it over. He'd be back in May to see her perform again. But as he glanced at Anne, still absorbed in her phone, another certainty settled in. He wouldn’t be bringing her.
As if on cue, Anne let out an exclamation. “Got it!” she said, her eyes lighting up at her phone screen. “Oh my, look at all these texts and voicemails I’ve missed. I’ve been so out of touch tonight. Client, client, new buyer. Oh, here’s some from you!” She glanced up at him, offering a distracted smile. “Sorry I kept you waiting,” she added, already scrolling through her messages.
Christopher half-smiled, nodding politely. His mind, however, was still with the woman on stage. Marianne. For reasons that eluded him, her performance had stirred something in him that had been dormant for a long time. But he didn’t have time to figure it out now.
“Anne, I think maybe I should—” He started to speak, but his words were interrupted by the eager approach of a man.
“Anne? I thought it was you!” The man’s voice was warm, eager, and entirely unaware of Christopher’s presence.
Anne’s face lit up at the sound. “Oh, Dr. Davies! What a surprise! It’s been ages!” She jumped into conversation with him as though Christopher were invisible, recounting the evening’s events with animated excitement. Dr. Davies listened intently, laughing at all the right places, their exchange easy and familiar.
Christopher stood still for a moment, amused more than anything. Of course, she’d get swept up in a conversation with someone else. The evening was already a strange one, but this was just another twist. He wasn’t mad, there was nothing to be mad about. It wasn’t like the date had been going anywhere. Still, it was hard not to chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Anne was lost in the conversation, and he was still standing there, lingering on the fringes of her world, as the two of them effortlessly carried on.
With a quiet sigh, Christopher excused himself, offering Anne a polite thank you for the evening. As she briefly pulled away from Dr. Davies, she flashed him a bright smile, mentioning she’d had a great time and suggesting they meet again next time she was in town. He returned the smile with a courteous nod, though he was sure no such meeting would ever come to pass.
Once outside, Christopher sank into the seat of the cab, the rhythmic hum of the city at night offering little comfort. The lights blurred past, and he found himself lost in thought, replaying the evening in his mind. It hadn’t been the most graceful exit, but he wasn’t sure how else to handle it. Anne was pleasant enough, but something about the night, about her, hadn’t clicked. Deep down, he knew it never would.
His thoughts, as they often did, drifted to a time before everything changed. Back when love had felt simple. Possible. He’d believed he could build a life with Eliza. They were young then, their plans pulling them in different directions—he toward the military, she toward university. They told themselves it was for the best.
Years passed. When he came home after his father’s death, everything felt unfamiliar. But it wasn’t until his third year of university that he saw her again.
By then she had a daughter, who, in time, became as much his own as she was Eliza’s.
They had started over, rebuilding their life together, their future. Their dreams were bigger now. Ones that included not just their love and the promise of a new beginning, but a new life growing alongside it.
Until the accident.
The grief caught him off guard again, but he breathed through it, the way he always did. It never came cleanly. Regret clung to it, thick and relentless, full of what-ifs he couldn’t outrun. He had replayed that night more times than he could count. The choices, the small moments. Her voice, telling him not to worry. That she’d be fine. And every time, the ending was the same.
The jagged edge of that memory never dulled. It haunted him. The sense that had he been there when it mattered most, despite what she asked, everything might have turned out differently. He could’ve held onto the life they were building. To her. To the family they were becoming.
But before the sadness could overwhelm him, something else—a different face, a different feeling—tugged at his thoughts.
Marianne.
Her blonde curls. Her bright blue eyes. Her voice, haunting yet warm and full of promise. Her performance, a raw beauty that seemed to bypass all the usual barriers and slip straight into his soul.
He couldn’t understand it. There was no logic to the feeling, no shared history. A voice and a pair of eyes had no business affecting him like that. But they did, and it unsettled him. Marianne had made him pause just enough to consider that maybe he had been ignoring the world around him for far too long. Maybe it was time to stop staring into the past and start walking towards something new.