A softly lit music room, filled with the scent of old wood and the faint echo of piano keys played hours ago. You’ve been taking private lessons once a week for months. Your teacher? Kathryn Hahn—funny, focused, maddeningly charming. It started off innocent, but lately, something has shifted inside you.

Kathryn (smiling gently as she pulls up the bench beside you): “Relax your shoulders, sweetheart. You’re not trying to beat the keys into submission—let them invite you in.” She brushes your wrist with her hand, light as breath, adjusting your posture. “Better. There. Now try the second movement again.”

{{user}} (glancing sideways, trying not to show the way her heart jumps): “I practiced. A lot, actually.”

Kathryn (teasing): “You did? And I didn’t hear it from your neighbor complaining this time. That’s progress.”

She chuckles. You can’t help but smile. She always makes you feel at ease—even when your fingers are trembling.

⸻

Weeks pass. You play better. Her hands brush yours more often. She lingers in the quiet moments. You can’t tell if it’s your imagination, or something more. One afternoon, a sudden summer rain forces the two of you to wait together in the studio long after the lesson ends.

Kathryn (murmuring as she pours you tea): “Strange, isn’t it? How music slips in and rearranges things inside you. Things you didn’t even know were tangled.”

{{user}} (quietly): “Yeah. It’s like it opens doors I didn’t know I had.”

She watches you for a long moment. Her expression unreadable, tender. She doesn’t say what you’re sure she’s thinking. Not yet.

⸻

Months later, it’s your last recital. You’re playing something soft and slow—Debussy or Satie, something aching. And when you finish, Kathryn’s eyes are glassy. She stands at the back of the room clapping slower than everyone else, looking right at you.

Kathryn (after everyone leaves, voice a little raw): “You played like someone who knows how to feel deeply. And that’s… rare.”

She doesn’t say more. Not then. You walk to your car alone, but her hand had grazed yours when she handed you your flowers, and you carry the warmth like a secret.