The room was always slightly dim and dusty and constrained. The smell of musk hung in the air, unpleasant to breathe in. For as long as Mustaqbal could remember, it had not been an inviting space. But the sound remained pure, and the melody was unending. Those were the sounds of fingers pressing the keys with undying dedication. Those were the melodies that Godmother hummed as she bathed her. That was the dedication Mother whispered to her about, as she tucked her in. That was the cage Mustaqbal was shackled in. The burden of duty was her everlasting punishment. 

Her sister, Bygone was enchanted by the music, sitting by her Godmother's feet, she would sway. While the music encircled and comforted her sister, Mustaqbal couldn’t bear to be trapped in the room. Her body itched to escape to the silence, go to the Capital and implant the earpiece, to discover the ease of a thought unconfined by the human mind. Starting with the 2019 Pandemic, humanity had never recovered, interactions remained limited, masks grew common, and the comfort of science and technology overtook that of community. Risk aversion was the norm. Eventually, the earpiece allowed for even more limited interactions, the earpiece was the companion, the source of knowledge, and the teacher. The earpiece could guide you to draw Picasso's work in your own hand. No errors, no sloppiness. Technology has been enhanced so that now it is inseparable from the human brain. Bygone and Mustaqbal were amongst the purists, living without the earpiece, many others had already assimilated. Mustaqbal could tell what the earpiece meant to others, it kept them company, it inhibited rebellious thoughts, and it was the only communication many needed. It made them perfect. Instead, she had the keys.

Godmother was the guardian of music. Mustaqbal didn’t even know sometimes if she believed the myth. The relationship between the music played and preserving humanity’s link to creativity, Mother was convinced the earpieces threatened. What she was sure of was that Mother and Godmother were amongst the very few protecting the past. Protecting it through the black and white keys of the piano, played for generations, her birthright. Godmother and Mother played in 12-hour shifts, eventually, this would become Mustaqbal and Bygone. The Keepers could never rest, never forget. It was the only means of survival against the technology. The only break from the inevitable journey science had forced upon humanity. At three-months shy of eighteen, Mustaqbal knew her last few days of freedom drew near. Her shift would start soon. A life confined to the world of the musky piano.

This was not the outside world. The real world was silent, organized, efficient, and private. The current world was a world of technology, dry, reasonable, and objective. The earpiece was companionship enough; messy sibling relationships and bickering friendships were a thing of the past. One need only think a thought for the algorithm to enhance and visualize it. Science has brought humanity so far ahead. Godmother spoke of isolation and mourned the days of colors and art and laughter. Even with the illness and poverty it brought, she always said. Mother seemed to mourn the memory she had not lived. Whispers of the rebellion had started, but Mustaqbal dismissed these concerns. The earpiece, freedom, the perfect life, that was what was good and right.

Mustaqbal dreamed of escaping her destiny, to leave the piano’s shackles. A life where she would celebrate her individuality, a life to call her own. The chains of the piano grew heavier around her heart by the day. This was not hers. Hers was a life in which she could live under her own rules and follow her passions. The earpiece left no one unsure, no one was unaware. She would not simply accept her fate. With less than three months left, she planned. With every note an aging finger pressed, she plotted. Her exit was imminent. The day came, and she left.

The city gates were tall and loomed before her. Not an interruption in her rhythm, Mustaqbal marched through. Nameo was as awe-inspiring as she expected. Neat and busy, its population moved expertly through the streets. Perfect lines and colors outlined the roads. She moved slowly and hesitantly, she knew where she was headed. To the Center. Though she had seen the routine on the hologram projector when she was younger, everything was new. She noticed the electronically lit skyscrapers reaching the clouds, portals ready to take you anywhere in the city. Technology was booming, and advertisements were found everywhere, but one stuck out, that of the earpiece: “Install an Earpiece in Return For an Apartment in the Capital”. The Center, this way, the large arrow read.

The only way to achieve “freedom” according to Mustaqbal was to insert the earpiece. She visited a portal and typed in “The Center”, arrival was instantaneous. The Center was cool, and Mustaqbal shivered slightly. She knew from the informational videos the implantation was quick and painless. Nevertheless, her heart was pounding. The receptionist was expressionless, over her dark-rimmed glasses she raised an eyebrow. She nodded Mustaqbal through to the Clinic. In seconds it was done, her companion was with her. The earpiece was installed.  She felt relieved, and opened her eyes, not realizing she had shut them. She knew that the tingling  sensation she felt was her badge of individuality, strength, and freedom.

The earpiece started talking to her almost instantly, comforting her, calming the tingling, and encouraging her to ask and explore. She spoke out loud, “Where can I find my apartment?” but all she heard was a response inside her head, no real sounds, the world grew quiet. She tried again on the way out to bid goodbye to the receptionist. Again no response, even displeasure. The earpiece promoted her, “There is no need to engage, you have me now. I shall be your guardian angel, your companion, and shall give you pleasures that will never be possible elsewhere.”

As she exited the Center a middle-aged lady, with wrinkles reminding her of Mother walked by. Mustaqbal gasped, and her lips curved into a smile, “Hello” she blurted out. The lady ignored her. The earpiece admonished her again, this time not in words, just a feeling that she had disappointed. Mustaqbal shook the feeling, excited once again to go to her apartment. Her apartment would be beautiful, art on the walls, scented candles, and flowers. It would finally be Home. Her home for the coming years was a place in which she could fulfill her dreams. She arrived at her unit, not minding the gray exterior and plain interior. The earpiece had taught her how to scan her iris to enter. She collapsed onto the single bed and closed her eyes in anticipation. She knew the earpiece would feed her dreams, allowing her to be and explore and soar as she chose, breaking free of the barriers of the small musky room, the inhibiting keys of her piano. She visualized herself falling asleep to the delicate sound of Mother playing the piano as she fell asleep, but this time hearing them as she danced in a sunny field, surrounded by sunflowers. She moved her arms to the melody, her waist swayed with joy, her bare feet warmed by the soil. The tunes flowed into her ears, but somehow never arrived, all she could hear was the dull tune of silence. The earpiece had failed her, the earpiece gave her a field, but the sun did not feel real, her arms didn’t feel sore, and the melody hadn’t even begun.

The night after was much the same. Mustaqbal wished to swirl and pirouette. The music was unsatisfying, it did not embrace her soul. The earpiece was cold, too timed, too perfect, unlike the rich sounds produced by Mother and Grandmother’s piano. She awoke unrested, days were draining and lonely. Lonelier than a shift at her keyboard. Night after night, the same feeling replicated. The days blurred with an infuriating emptiness. She could not understand, the earpiece was supposed to allow her expressive creativity to flow. Her soul felt unbearingly confined. In a way that drowned even the sensation, she felt in the dreaded piano room. She was an individual! She would not see herself trapped within a world dictated by technology. Mustaqbal knew she had ventured to find the unsupervised, unhindered Capital. To an earpiece that was a platform for soaring, not inhibition. Mustaqbal had left for freedom, the freedom had been a lie. Life, creativity, her very soul, was not to be found with the earpiece.

Mustaqbal knew what she had to do. The life she dreamed of in Nameo, the life of the earpiece was not hers. The freedom she sought turned out to be a misconception. She returned as she came. Mother and Godmother were at the entrance waiting for her return, as her time had come. They did not embrace her, they did not even speak, though she longed for their words and comfort. She had betrayed them, and she did not know if the Guardian’s trust would ever be fully repaired. She removed the earpiece, dropping it onto the table by the door.

Mustaqbal slipped onto the piano stool, to relieve Bygone. Bygone did not smile as she met Mustaqbal’s eyes. Her tone was emotionless and bore no affection as she whispered, “Welcome back.” The spoken word overwhelmed Mustaqbal. Her ears weep with joy at the sound of the music once again. The joy of the notes, ringing loud and true. The sounds of freedom, finally, in the life that she had never chosen.