Scene: Uncle Charles' Living Room, Early Evening

The familiar hum of the television filled the living room, but Tommy wasn't paying attention. He sat on the old, worn couch, violin resting in his lap, fingers absently plucking at the strings. Uncle Charles sat in his recliner across from him, flipping through channels without much interest.

"Why don't you practice for a bit, Tommy?" Charles finally said, not looking up from the remote. "Might take your mind off things."

Tommy sighed, running his hand along the smooth wood of his violin. His uncle didn't know — or maybe he did, but just didn't mention it — how much pressure Tommy felt lately. His parents, always off in their world of technology, assumed he'd follow in their footsteps. After all, tech was the future, wasn't it? Who cared about classical music or violin solos when you could build the next billion-dollar app?

But that wasn't Tommy. He wasn't wired like them. He wasn't wired for anything tech-related, really. The simplest gadgets frustrated him, and he could never figure out the most basic software. He once took an hour trying to fix a frozen phone, only to realize he hadn't even turned it off and on again. Meanwhile, his mom could probably code an entire operating system in her sleep.

He lifted the violin to his shoulder, letting the bow hover over the strings, just above the perfect spot to start a melody. His fingers were poised to play something beautiful, something that would echo through the room and maybe — just maybe — make everything feel right again. But nothing came.

The pressure wasn't just from his parents. It was from everywhere. Even his friends. They saw him as "Tommy the Brit," the one who could crack a joke and talk about anything but his real struggles. Jerry was the smart one, Maddie was the glamorous one, Katherine the quiet one — and Tommy? He didn't know what he was supposed to be.

"I'm not in the mood today, Uncle," Tommy said, lowering the bow. His voice was tired, and he hadn't meant for it to sound so... defeated.

Charles glanced over, his usually easygoing expression tightening. "Not like you to give up so quick."

"It's not giving up. I just..." Tommy rubbed his eyes, setting the violin aside. "I just don't feel like it right now."

The truth was, Tommy was tired of feeling like he had to be good at something for everyone else. The violin was the one thing that was supposed to be for him. His escape, his sanctuary. But lately, even that felt like another expectation he had to live up to. When he wasn't practicing, he felt guilty. When he was practicing, he felt like it wasn't good enough.

Charles didn't push him. He never did. That was one of the things Tommy appreciated about his uncle — he was always there, always present, unlike his parents. But he didn't pry, didn't demand anything. Sometimes Tommy wondered what would've happened if he'd been raised by his parents instead of Charles. Maybe he would've turned out like them — cold, logical, efficient. Maybe he'd have learned to care more about the latest tech breakthrough than some obscure piece of music composed centuries ago.

But that wasn't who he was.

"You know," Charles said after a long pause, "your dad... when he was your age, he didn't know what he wanted to be, either."

Tommy blinked. That wasn't something Charles ever talked about. His father was always presented as this perfect genius, a tech innovator who'd had his entire life mapped out since high school.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Thought he'd be an architect for a while. Hated computers back then, believe it or not."

Tommy frowned, staring down at his hands. It was hard to imagine his dad, of all people, hating computers. But then again, maybe his dad wasn't always the person he was now. Maybe he'd been a kid once, too, with dreams that didn't line up with everyone else's.

"You're not them, Tommy," Charles said quietly. "You're not your parents, and you don't have to be. You've got your own path."

Tommy swallowed, his throat tight. It was a nice thing to say, and maybe Charles even believed it. But Tommy wasn't sure if he did. His path wasn't as clear as everyone else's seemed to be. He wasn't the tech genius or the prodigy violinist. He was just stuck somewhere in between.

"Yeah," Tommy muttered, though he wasn't convinced. "I know."

But as he sat there in the dim living room, the weight of the violin pressing into his legs, he wasn't so sure about anything.