The Piano Room

I hurriedly rushed to our uni's music block that day. I needed to practice a piece for the upcoming music performance, held in conjunction with the opening anniversary of the uni's music block. I headed straight for piano practice room 6. He had promised to meet me there. But upon opening the door, the room was empty, as expected.

I switched on the lights and entered the white-washed room. There, in the middle of the room, stood the Music Room Grand Model B in polished black. I walked slowly toward it and lifted the shiny cover. The red velvet cloth was neatly folded and put aside. Gently, I slid my fingers across the ivory and ebony keys. They were cool to the touch and a thrill of unexplained exhilaration passed through me. Quickly, I took out my music score and laid it on the stand. And in no time at all, my fingers were deftly running and jumping across the keys as beautiful music filled the room which I was in.

Beautiful to me that is, until the door opened and he walked in.

I stopped playing to see him watching me with that skeptic look on his face. His mouth was opened to reveal a smile. A smile which did not quite reach his eyes and a smile that hinted of condescension. He sat on a chair placed somewhere behind me and started fiddling with his phone.

I turned back on my seat, positioning my fingers on the keys as I rolled my eyes. Whatever, was the word in my head. I started playing Beethoven's Fur Elise.

But for reasons unbeknown to me, mistakes kept appearing. Notes were missed and my speed was not in tandem with the supposed rhythm. I started to get frustrated. And my frustration turned into anger when I heard him chuckling behind me.

He tsk-tsked at me and said sarcastically, "Are you sure you were chosen to play in the performance this Saturday?"

I jammed the keys down hard, their harsh sound making echoes inside that asylum-like room. I turned to face him and glared at him.

"Get out." I pointed to the door.

Who did he think he was, I thought to myself in fury. My mentor? He had not supported me when I decided to join the music club. And now he wants to judge me? Who the heck cares if he has finished eighth grade and was the most sought after piano player in the university? He had no right to judge me. No right at all.
He stood there with his arms folded, looking at me as if I had gone mad.

I turned back on my seat again, turning my face away from him. Tears were threatening to spill right at that moment. Stress and mounting pressure was all that I had been facing as the day of the music performance approached.

Gently, I took a deep breathe and positioned my delicate fingers on the first notes of the masterpiece. I would not let myself be bowed down to pressure to the extend that I would cry in front of him. No, not him. Ever. But I had just barely began on the piece, when I suddenly felt him behind me. His hands, which were bigger than mine, covered my hands as they hovered over the black and white keys. His chest touched my back lightly and I could feel his breathe as he leaned down towards my face from behind.

"I'm sorry." He said softly into my right ear.

I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I sat rigid on the chair. I hung my head, letting my hair fall over my face, and tilted slightly away from his face. I felt hurt and angry. At the same time, I felt like crying., sobbing my heart out, letting the tears flow with hope that the stress and tension would go as well.

A tear trickled from the inner corner of my eye and slowly rolled to the tip of my nose where it plopped softly down onto my pants. For a few moments, neither of us moved. We remained in that position for five minutes. I, on the piano stool and he, standing behind me.

Suddenly without warning, tears spilled and I began sob violently. So violent I could not stop shaking. I curled up on the piano chair, with my head between my knees, my arms hugging my legs and I cried. He sat beside me on the piano chair, embracing my foetus form with his arms. His right hand stroke my back as he tried to comfort my shaking body.


(Hmmm.... I am suddenly at a lost on how to continue this... I hate having writer's block!!!)