About a month into the school year, your class ended. It was break time. Fall was deceptive because it felt warm but turned chilly quickly. As you walked through the halls to ge to the cafeteria, a melody caught your ear

It came from the theatre. A navy blue door, adorned with a painted floral frame, drew your attention. You pushed it open, the hinges creaking into the silence.

Inside, a boy sat at the piano, his fingers gliding over the keys with mechanical precision. The smooth and light notes filled the air. As you stepped closer, your footsteps soft on the worn wooden floor, he turned his head. His cold, unreadable gaze met yours, and though he said nothing and kept playing, the slight arch of his brow seemed to ask: "What are you doing here?"