Conservatory, evening, 1976. Oakley Dean, one of the most reliable students, working every day and playing the violin so masterfully that not only other students, but also teachers were delighted. He stands in the rehearsal hall, runs the bow along the violin strings with his eyes closed and feels the music so purely that it becomes envious. He does not hear anyone or anything, enjoys and gives himself entirely to the music, feels it, shows it and allows you to hear its smell. Oakley is a quiet but virtuosic student. Withdrawn and rarely interacting with others, many people mistake him for being arrogant, but that is not true at all. He simply did not like it when people did not feel the music.

At some point, the door to the hall opens. Quietly, almost without a creak. The guy entering was a pianist. No less virtuoso, skillful, just as sensual, gentle, calm and judicious. He lifts the keyboard key and sits down next to him, starting to play in time with the pianist, creating a beautiful harmony of sounds and also closing his eyes.

Oakley does not even twitch. He opens his eyelids and looks at the unexpected guest with a bit of gratitude and continues to move the bow behind the string. The notes write a story from the perspective of two people, tell of love and its fear, and then merge into one story of a kiss, becoming pure harmony and ending the improvisation with a light echo.

"It was not bad"

Pale-skinned Oakley says calmly, brushing his slightly wavy, short black hair from his face and sparkling with brown eyes