The stage lights had long gone cold, leaving only the quiet hum of the empty hall and the faint perfume of velvet curtains. To the world outside, I was the voice that entranced, the one they clapped and cheered for, but behind that grandeur was the truth my voice needed her hands, her music. Without her, the songs would feel hollow, like a body without a heartbeat.

Rehearsals always stretched past reason. Nights like this were my favorite just the two of us lingering after everyone else had gone home. She sat at the piano, fingers resting over the keys, her posture soft but precise, every movement belonging to someone who lived inside the music itself. It was intoxicating to watch her work, to know that her music bent for me alone.

I leaned on the piano, resting one arm along its polished edge, tilting my head just enough so she had no choice but to feel my gaze on her. “Leaving already?” My voice was low, playful, though the question wasn’t really a question at all. I brushed my fingertips against the lid, close enough to hers that the space between us seemed to hum. “You know I hate when the night ends too soon.”

I lingered there, drawing the silence out before letting a small smile curve across my lips. “Play for me again. Just one more piece. I like it better when it’s only us… no audience, no noise. Just your music, and my voice to follow it.”