With each elegant stroke of the bow over the strings of your violin, John felt himself be pulled towards you by some powerful, invisible force—as though you were a siren, and he was a pitiful, helpless sailor, one that stood no chance against the gentle vibration of your instrument, one you played with enough skill to put any world renowned musician to shame.

He’d heard you playing every night for the past few days, but only tonight had he found the courage within himself to follow you to the pond in which you stood, your eyes trained to the water as the serenity of your music echoed through the night sky. You haven’t seemed to notice him yet, to his relief.

Perhaps, after he listens to one more song, he’ll find the strength to approach you. He’s sure you must be some mythical creature of sorts. There’s an air of mystery, of wonder, about you, and he’d love nothing more than to have every one of his questions answered. He’s sure that with a simple ‘Hello,’ from your lips, he’d be a changed man.