Violin Novel Novels & Stories

I saw the familiar figure playing alone again, and he reminded me of that moonlit night on Pudding Island. The music stopped, and the violinist put the violin down gently. He carefully placed the violin in the case, and then he gently stroked the edge of the violin from top to bottom, as if touching a lover. Closing the case, he turned to me, with calm and smiling in his eyes.

she said. “What the instrument sounds like with both of us playing,” he said. “Caden brought his violin.” She looked at Caden. He had his case. “Play,” she said. They played in her workshop while the evening light came in through the high windows and she sat on the bench she never sat on and listened to the two instruments finding each other, the violin and the viola in the specific conversation that string instruments had when they were well-matched. The sound filled the space.

I grinned, “Sure mom.” “Dinner is in the oven,” she picked up her lesson books, “Sadly we won’t be done for dinner so please eat without us.” I shook my head, “Ok.” She blew a kiss and left, I slouched my shoulders and headed to my room. Even though she said she’d talk to him again… I knew she wasn’t going to, she never does. I closed my door and placed my violin in the closet along with my other three instruments, which included a flute, a cello, and a small piano. I changed into my black satin pajamas then snatched up my diary from my desk and plopped on my bed, opening my ice cream bar I began to write:

Late at night, when she couldn't sleep in the darkness, the soft sounds of a violin drifted into her suite. At first, she believed she was dreaming. But no — it was real. Haunting. Beautiful. Crushing. She moved stealthily toward the balcony, her heart pounding. Across the courtyard, on the terrace of the other penthouse, Valerio stood. A violin under his chin, bow drawing out the music with excruciating precision. Sera covered her mouth with her hand. She had no idea he could play. She hadn't known someone so mean could produce something so achingly tender.

Nova nodded, unsure what to say. Damian opened a carved wooden door at the end of the hall. Inside was a bedroom, unlike the rest of the house. Smaller. Simpler. The walls were painted in faded navy. Bookshelves sagged with worn paperbacks. A violin case rested atop the dresser, long abandoned. "This was mine." Nova stepped inside slowly. The air smelled of cedar and dust. She ran her fingers across the spines of old novels, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Art of War, Frankenstein. A boy raised on darkness and vengeance.

“It feels like a dream come true. I want tonight to be a memorable one for all of us—especially for my love, Vivian.” Vivian narrowed her eyes suspiciously, lips curving. “What are you up to this time?” Erick grinned. “Wait and see.” He set his glass down and clapped his hands twice. Suddenly, a group of men and women stepped forward carrying violins and flower bouquets. The restaurant fell silent. Then, the first slow, sweet notes of the violin began to fill the air. The sound was tender, almost fragile, wrapping the room in a delicate haze of emotion.

“Haley, I asked Isla see you to help you. She will not tell me anything. Everything said with her is confidential. I wouldn’t force Isla to break her oath to her clients. It just seemed like you could use someone to talk to outside of Nick and Ray.” She looks at me confused at first before it turns to embarrassment. “Oh, well…I’m sorry then for jumping to conclusions.” “I did feel bad that this morning did not go well so I figured you could use something to cheer you up. A little birdie told me you play.” I hold up the brand new violin and I can see the light shine in her eyes. She takes the violin case from me and runs her hands along the strings. She picks it up and begins to tune it like

A folded note rested beside the instrument. Elena picked it up carefully. The handwriting was sharp and unmistakable. Something to ease your boredom. —R Elena stared at the note in disbelief. Roberto bought her a violin? Her fingers brushed the instrument almost reverently. Emotion tightened unexpectedly in her throat. Because before all of this— before the necklace, before death, before Roberto— Music had been hers. Her safe place. She had not touched a violin since her family died. For the first time in weeks something inside Elena softened slightly.

continued Rendy Pluto also looking at the central part of the café somewhat jovially and ebulliently. “Yeah, you’re right… It’s a viola…” replied Pierre Zhaopardy exuberantly. The sound of the violins was really heard familiar within Erito’s sense of hearing. However, when he dug into his memories, he couldn’t find out what made him feel so familiar towards the sound of the violins. His brain began to think harder and harder. When his brain was thinking harder and harder, more and more severe headache began to attack his head. He felt quite a terrible headache on his head, like a hammer which was beaten on his head again and again, on and on, continuously and continuously.

Deadbolt, awkward twist, ritual completed. Inside smelled like instrument case, soap, and the ghost of breakfast. I set the violin on the table and the bag of thrift-store spoils on the chair that had agreed to be an extra closet. The roof made a sound like a careful cough. I looked up. I didn’t apologize for looking up. The ceiling declined to tell me who was on it.