Silence. Then, Deborah laughed—not cruelly, but softly. “Oh, babe. My voice literally quit on me when my last band walked out. You think I’m scared of a broken piano?”
Giovanna took the mic. “Every love song you’ve ever heard is about trying to find your way back to someone. Deborah wrote the lyrics. I just finally learned to sing along.” Silence
Giovanna’s fingers froze on the keys. No one had ever accused her of being afraid of sound. That was her thing—she controlled sound. Deborah, she realized, had just seen right through her. My voice literally quit on me when my last band walked out
They’re on a cramped tour bus, months later. Deborah is scribbling in a notebook. Giovanna is picking out a quiet melody on a travel keyboard. It’s 2 a.m., and they’re both exhausted and happy. Deborah wrote the lyrics
They kissed. It was messy, off-tempo, and perfect.
They started finishing each other’s sentences.
The album became a secret map of their relationship. Track 4 was the first argument (“C# and Misery”). Track 7 was the rainstorm (“No Power, No Walls”). Track 9 was a wordless piano solo that Giovanna wrote after their first night together—Deborah had cried hearing it, because it was the sound of someone finally letting go of fear.