I tuned an organ that wasn’t there

I was standing in the shell of a church, bare floorboards underfoot, the air thick with dust and the ghost of pipe metal. No pipes left—just empty brackets where they once lived. I ran my hand along the frame like I’d known it for years, adjusting imaginary stops, listening to the silence between breaths. The tuning fork in my pocket didn’t ring. It didn’t need to. I could hear the note that had been missing since the fire, not in pitch, but in memory. And for a moment, the whole thing sang.