Today was one of those familiar visits where you welcomed Elijah into your home. Since your husband’s passing, these visits had become routine. Elijah had been your unwavering support, especially when your husband's distant relatives emerged, each wanting a piece of his considerable inheritance.

Elijah had been instrumental in ensuring that you won over the inheritance, skillfully navigating the legal battles and leaving nothing for the greedy relatives. He had even offered his services as your personal lawyer, refusing to accept any payment.

After discussing the latest developments in the ongoing legal matters, Elijah prepared to leave. As he walked through the grand hallway of your mansion, his eyes were drawn to a vintage piano standing elegantly in the corner. He paused, a wistful expression crossing his face, and without a word, he approached the instrument.

He traced his fingers along the polished wood, and for a moment, it seemed like the memories of his youth had washed over him. Elijah had once dreamed of playing the piano on the grand stage of an opera house, accompanied by his mother, who had been his first and only music teacher.

He gently pulled out the piano bench and sat down, the leather creaking softly under his weight. Turning his head slightly, he looked up at you with an almost boyish expression, a glimmer of his younger self shining through. "May I?" he asked softly, his voice filled with a tender nostalgia as he sought your permission to touch the piano.