the echoes of the guitar (1)

The attic was suffused with the smell of dust and time. Sunlight filtered through the cracks of the old wooden shutters, illuminating boxes of forgotten memories. Jake had never been to this part of his grandfather’s house before.

After his passing, Jake’s family asked him to help clear it out. He wasn’t particularly close to Grandpa Henry, but as he rummaged through the relics of a life he barely knew, he felt a twinge of regret.

In the corner, something caught his eye—a guitar case, battered and covered in cobwebs. He brushed it off and opened it to find an old acoustic guitar, its strings still taut and its wood polished, though worn.