Page 139 of Prickly Romance

I play the opening notes of Faure’sPavane. It’s a hauntingly beautiful melody, but I’m not focused on it. Sazuki is distracting me and I can’t help peering at him from the corner of my eye.

Everything, from the tall, upright way he sits, to the tilt of his head, to the way his big hands spread over the piano keys, hints at strict classical training.

I try to sit straight too, but I don’t have the same princely air and my hands are much smaller when they expand over the piano keys.

Focus, Dejonae. You have a job to do.

I settle down, letting my fingers tickle the top of the keys. We’re sharing the same bench, his thigh pressing lightly into mine. I’m both keenly aware of him and comforted by his closeness.

The notes ring out in the concert hall, filling the air with something—not heavy but anticipatory. Like someone holding their breath as they wait for their lover to appear.

Sazuki plays the lower notes and a shiver runs down my spine at the way his melody answers mine. Rather than mirroring me, he’s playing the harmony. His notes dance just below mine in an expert cadence.

The music swells, moving steadily toward the climax.

When I look over at him, I see sweat dotting his forehead. He’s bent over the keys, giving himself passionately to the music.

Then he glances at me.

And the world stops.

My hand gets heavy, holding down the chord.

But Sazuki doesn’t let that stop him.

He plays a melody around my sustained chord, filling the air with a light, tinkling energy.

I lift my hands and the chord ends. Throwing myself back into the song, I keep my eyes on him this time and marvel at his exquisite skill. Sazuki’s hands create poetry out of thin air and vibrations.

The music isn’t coming from the piano.

It’s like it’sinsidehim.

Every brush of his fingers, every stretch of his hand, is creating a story. A movie.

A confession.

It strikes me then.

Because I hear him.

I feel it.

In a way that only music can communicate.

His dimples pop out and he nods once, letting me know I’m right. Letting me know it isn’t in my head.

I stare at him as I play. A part of me feels this moment isn’t real. That I’m going to roll out of my bed at any moment and realize that it was all in my head. It was all a dream.

Sazuki plays the final chord and steps on the suspension pedal for a second, letting the last note ring out in the silence.

I raise my hand slightly off the piano. Sazuki says nothing. He only takes out the remote again and cuts off the recording.

As the silence settles, I lurch to my feet, stumbling in my heels.

“Dejonae,” Sazuki says.

I turn around slowly.

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