Part 1:The Sound Between Us: The Loss of Purple Rain
The Cafe
The café hummed with milk steamers and a thin, bright playlist nobody was really listening to. It was musical wallpaper—sound without attention.
Hugh had always believed music deserved more than that.
The Cafe
Alex: “Listen to this. Perfect sound.”
Hugh stared at the tiny white earpiece in Alex’s hand.
Hugh: “Perfect?”
Alex: “Crystal clear. Every song ever recorded—right here.”
He waved the phone like proof of civilisation’s progress.
Alex: “Why would anyone need the mountains of equipment you have? Seriously, it’s out of date.”
Hugh: “You’ve never really heard music.”
Alex: “Oh God, not this again.”
Hugh: “You’ve got the portable edition of every song.”
Alex popped the earbud back in.
Alex: “Sounds fabulous to me.”
Hugh: “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing.”
Alex squinted at him.
Alex: “You say that like I’m missing vitamins.”
Hugh: “To you, music is something you carry around.”
Alex: “And to you?”
Hugh: “It’s somewhere you go.”
Neither of them moved. This wasn’t a new argument—but neither had ever convinced the other.
Alex tapped his phone, scanning the endless list of tracks delivered by the algorithm. Sometimes the opening bars of an old synthpop song carried him back to a quiet morning train. Rain streaked the window. Headphones on, fingers numb from coffee, he listened. Music had woven itself effortlessly into his routine.
Alex: “Look at this. Millions of songs. Instantly. I can listen on the train, walking, or at work. Yesterday, it suggested a band from Iceland. How awesome is that?”
Alex: “I’ve never been to Iceland. Now I like their music.”
Hugh nodded politely.
Hugh: “Algorithms are impressive.”
Alex: “They’re useful.”
He pointed at his earbuds.
Alex: “These sound amazing. Noise-cancelling blocks distractions. High-res streaming makes it clear. Spatial audio puts sound all around you. Why would anyone need old equipment?”
Hugh: “You call my system a museum.”
Alex: “Glowing tubes, wardrobe-sized speakers, and crackling vinyl.”
Hugh: “You know, the first time I heard a proper tube amp?”
Alex sighed theatrically but stayed quiet.
Hugh: “It was in a small shop. The guy put on a jazz record. Suddenly, the room vanished. The piano wasn’t a sound anymore—it was wood and strings. You could hear the drummer brushing the snare like someone sweeping sand.”
Alex: “Sounds nice.”
Hugh: “Not nice. Real.”
Alex: “You’re romanticising it.”
Hugh: “No. You’re shrinking it.”
Alex tapped his phone again and scrolled until he found the cover art for Prince’s Purple Rain.
Alex: “Alright. Let’s test your view.”
Music leaked faintly from his earbuds.
Alex: “Listen to this.”
Hugh heard the rhythm bleeding through the tiny speakers.
Alex: “Prince. Purple Rain. Even these nail it.”
Hugh froze.
Hugh: “You’re listening to Prince through earbuds?”
Alex: “Yeah. Why?”
Hugh: “You can’t be serious.”
Hugh: “If you think that’s the song, you’ve never heard the song.”
Alex: “Oh, come on.”
Hugh: “I mean it. That recording has space. Air. Texture. It’s magnificently composed.”
Alex: “Sounds perfect to me.”
Hugh: “Perfectly lacking.”
Alex: “Alright then. Educate me.”
Hugh studied him, then smiled.
Hugh: “Come over tonight if you're game.”