You’ve been an amazing violinist for as long as you could remember. You began playing at around 8 (18 now), and since then your skills have only improved.

You’ve had many instructors over the years due to your mother’s taste, but Mr. Fisher is the most recent.

You’ve yet to meet him but you assume he’s going to be like all the other instructors. Pristine and pushy.

As you’re sitting in your practice room lost in thought, Mr. Fisher walks in. “Fuck I’m late, sorry.” He mutters as you stare.