She saw him sitting at the piano by the window. She would have walked right past the room, but she doubled back when she realized he was there. She could’ve sworn he wasn’t there a second ago, but he was. He wasn’t playing, just sitting and staring at the last streaks of light coming from the dying sun, which lit the room in an otherworldly haze. He almost seemed to glow as he sat there with his back to her. Unreal. Light reflected off the glossy lid of the piano and onto the opposite wall. His shadow followed it, an inky, blurred silhouette. He didn’t notice her entrance. She had the slightest desire to remain unannounced just to watch his ethereal figure in the light.
“Can you play something for me?” she finally asked. He inhaled sharply but didn’t
move.
“I- what?”
She internally scolded herself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s just…” He dipped his head, staring at his hands. “You used to ask me.”
“I can leave if that’s what you want.” She backed away slowly like one would from a frightened animal.
“That’s not what I meant; I’ll play. I need to.” He hesitated, thinking. “And I want to.” He fingered a key gently. “Requests?”
“Anything.”
“Okay.”
He pressed the note and it rang out, slow and clear. Just the single note. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Then he placed his hands down and began to play, a mesmerizing sound, perfectly capturing the spellbinding beauty of the girl and his eternal love for her. It was soft and gentle and it filled the air between them. The honeyed nature of the sonata melted over them, warm and rich, like velvet cascading around them in waves. She involuntarily held her breath and stood still behind him, unwilling to break his trance. It broke anyway, and he stopped abruptly.
She took a tentative step forward. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t see you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Come here.”
She made her way across the room until she was next to him. “Is this okay?”
“Sit.” He flinched at his own command. “I mean, please.”
She laughed softly. “Um, but where?”
He gestured to the grand piano in front of him. She ran her fingers over the edge before lifting herself to perch on the edge of it. She swung her legs a little and shuffled around until she was comfortable. The corners of his lips turned upwards in the faintest of smiles. “Perfect.”
“Me or the instrument?”
“Both.”
He began again, picking up where he left off. She couldn’t help but watch him. He was watching her too. He didn’t need to see which notes he was pressing. He knew. But she could place the little details that gave away his concentration. The way he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly proved that the melody took more effort than he let her believe. He played faster, fingers flying across the keys like little dancers. The atmosphere changed, and the music darkened. It grew painful and sad, and he stumbled. He didn’t let it faze him, though, he just flexed his hands and tried again. But it sounded wrong now. She knew there was something off. She could hardly recall how it was supposed to go. He was slipping away. Then he stopped altogether.
“I can’t finish it.”
She slid off the piano. Slowly, she sat on the bench next to him, close enough that their sides pressed against each other. But not really; she couldn’t exactly feel him. He wasn’t looking at her now, only the keys. His chest rose and fell heavily, but steadily. She waited a few beats before asking, “Why?” She knew why. She wished she didn’t.
“I can’t remember.”
She didn’t reply. She only wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He never forgot before. But she had forgotten, and so had he. He leaned against her and she fingered the nape of his neck before letting her hand slip into the depth of his hair. She ran her fingers through it soothingly and he turned to bury his head into her shoulder. Everything was falling apart. She couldn’t bear to lose him again. His breathing grew erratic and harsh. She felt the wet droplets of his despair fall onto her collarbone, one by one. They may as well have been her own. His lips grazed her neck and she felt his breath against her skin when he quietly asked, “Why can’t I remember?”
His voice was choked and strained. The sound of it broke her soul into small, sharp fragments. Sharp enough to pierce through the illusion she created all those nights ago, reassuring herself he would come back. But there was always a part of her that knew he was gone for good, no matter how hard she tried to suppress the truth. It was obvious he wasn’t coming back. His anguish mirrored her own internal inferno fueled by all the evil in this bitter, cruel world.
She stroked his hair again. “It’s alright. You’re going to be fine.”
“But I can’t,” he paused for another silent sob, “I can’t play for you anymore.”
“You don’t need to play for me.”
But he was already gone again.
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