The old theatre doors groaned as I pushed them open, releasing a breath of dust and velvet into the evening air. Inside, rows of crimson seats stretched toward a darkened stage, each one holding the ghost of an audience long gone. A single spotlight flickered to life, casting a warm circle on the worn wooden boards. I walked down the aisle slowly, my footsteps echoing against the vaulted ceiling. Somewhere behind the heavy curtains, a piano began to play — soft, hesitant, as if remembering a melody it once knew by heart. I took a seat in the third row, right of center, and let the music wrap around me like an old blanket. For a moment, the world outside didn't exist. It was just me, the empty theatre, and a song that felt like coming home.