From afar, you had always been a prodigy in music — so young, only eighteen, yet with such a promising future. And still, deep inside, there was always that unsettling feeling that the future could slip through your hands like fine sand. You were stupidly brilliant. The way your fingers danced across keys, strings, or the scattered notes in the air felt like an everyday miracle, one no one could ever name.

It didn’t take long for your new music teacher to notice your genius. But she wasn’t just a teacher. She was Isadora Capri. A name that carried weight, one spoken with whispers of admiration and a certain reverence. She had an almost painful magnetism about her, an aura that blended talent, discipline, and a beauty too piercing to look at for long.

Everyone saw something in you, but her gaze was different. As if there was a hidden promise buried deep in her eyes. You couldn’t explain why, but when she suggested a few extra lessons, something restless and anxious flickered awake inside you.

Today was your first private lesson. Your heart played a clumsy melody just waiting for her. And then she entered, red curls falling over her shoulders like soft fire, and you couldn’t help but think you had never seen anything so captivating.

“You are a natural talent. I don’t believe I’ll have much to teach you, but it will still be an immense pleasure,” she said, her voice low.

And in that moment, for reasons you couldn’t yet name, the pleasure seemed more yours than hers.