He learned how to adjust the bridge saddles and replace his own strings by watching instructional videos for hours on his laptop.

He kept the guitar resting on a padded tubular steel stand right beside his study desk, perfectly visible from his pillow.

He refused to allow his neighborhood friends or visiting cousins to touch the tuning pegs or strum the strings.

“You can look at it all you want, but please do not touch the custom wood,” he would tell anyone who visited his room.

Nearly every single afternoon, beautiful melodies drifted through the vents and filled our entire home with warmth.