Chapter 1
When I was a young girl, my mother, my beautiful mother, would tell me stories. She told me stories about amazing things such as magical beings like warlocks and centaurs and often swore that the fairy tales she told were true. I adored all the stories I was taught and savoured the vibrant colours I had described to me, but of course, there was one story that rose above all others that she would tell me the most, the story that I favoured in my young age and that still holds a place in my heart at the age of 16 – her stories about angels.
Mother would lay me down and tuck me into my bed just before bedtime so she would have time to tell me my favourite story. I would snuggle deep into my bed, under the covers, becoming one with the large number of fluffy cushions and toys that shared my pillow space with me, and watch her, intent on not missing a single word about to be spoken about my angel. She would lean close to me and begin by explaining how anyone and everyone on earth is assigned their own special angel whose job is to watch over them from above, to protect and guide them. She would describe the many types of angels that there are, explaining that there are so many different types so that everyone can have an angel that is just right for them. At this point, Mother would always stop for a few moments to look me deep in the eye, to tell me that mine, my angel… Is an angel of music.
Now, at this point if I was lucky and she had time, Mother would let me ask her how? How did she know what my angel is? Each time she answered, a sad but kind smile would spread across her face as she says the words "My Dear…" before going on.
"You were born blessed with a soul bathed in the heavens by the angels themselves. Ever since that day, that I saw your young face, I knew that you had the art of music coursing through your veins, the power to alter hearts with a single note sung from your lips." Remembering what she used to tell me, I could almost feel her delicate and warm hand caress my cheek along with an equally delicate kiss to my forehead.
A few years before her death and inspired by her musically inclined ways, I entered a singing academy that had high ratings and promised pure success in teaching and training its students. I joined because I wanted to make my mother proud. More than anything in the world I just wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted to be able to confidently sing along beside her to the songs she would play on her violin every evening instead of just watching and enjoying, occasionally humming along. I wanted to be more involved with her because I'd felt a gap growing between us ever since my father had died and I wanted to stop that gap from getting any bigger as soon as I could.
Her music style really was beautiful. Whenever I used to watch her as I perched on the old sofa in our living room, warming by the fire, I would be positively enchanted by the music she made.
The memory of my mother's kind smile causes a silent tear to trickle down my cheek. When she died, I quit the academy. I remember at the time that my thinking behind doing so was something along the lines of, "What point is there in staying here if my only inspiration for being here is gone?" Looking back, of course I wished I could change my mind and stay at the academy and improve myself more because as I matured, I began to realise that I could have and should have honoured her memory by continuing the one thing she loved maybe even more than her own child – Practicing music. The first time I'd had this thought at the age of 12, I had cried for weeks, shutting myself into my given room at the orphanage I had been staying at, from realizing that I had insulted her memory by quitting.
By the age of 13, I'd decided for myself that I wanted to leave the orphanage to go to a boarding school for music and so I'd done just that. The death of my parents had matured far quicker than that of a child with both their parents so I was independent and matured enough for the higher-ups of the place I was staying, to agree to my desire. They'd contacted the school I had told them I had in mind and got everything ready for my arrival there – A dorm, classes and timetables (based on the answers I had given them to questions that were used to suss out the kind of classes I would be put into and what part of music I wanted to focus on) paperwork and uniforms.
I arrived at the school about 2 months after the academic year begun, so I wasn't too far behind in work and hadn't missed any big events just yet.
Thursday 16th November: Day/Evening 1
I write the words carefully into my make-shift diary, ensuring to not make any stupid mistakes. A perfectionist. A trait I picked up from mother. I decided after much thought that since I only arrived a few hours ago and I haven't even spent a day in my dorm, that writing 'Day 1' would be silly.
It took about half an hour to unpack and get used to my surroundings. I suppose that must be a perk of being an orphan? Settling into somewhere new doesn't affect you emotionally much anymore.
I sit back and look at the page. Picking up the notepad, I rip the page out, lay it on the desk next to me and start the entry again.
Thursday 16th November: Day/Evening 1
I just arrived at the school a few hours ago and I've settled down into my dorm. Thankfully, there's no one around right now as school lessons should be still in session, so I don't need to worry about introductions just yet.
My dorm room is a little bigger than the room I occupied back at the orphanage, since it has to hold 2 people rather than 1 and is furnished with old looking desks and bookshelves that have ornate designs engraved into the legs of each piece. They remind me of the rocking horse father made for me a week before he died.
I stop writing for a moment to clip back my outgrown blonde fringe with some spare hair clips I keep in the pockets of my shorts and continue describing my surroundings to my diary once the obstruction to my sight is secure enough that I know it won't fall back. While writing, I unconsciously hum to myself, a habit I hadn't managed to stop.
"Is that Yiruma?"
A voice calls through the open door I could have sworn I'd shut when I came in. The voice continues, ignoring my most likely confused expression I was making at my writing.
"It is Yiruma, right? You were humming beautifully, by the way." I mentally kick myself for not being able to stop the humming habit and look up to the source of the voice. I'm met with a blonde boy that looks to be my age, possibly a few years older, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.
I must have thrown an odd look his way as he gets slightly defensive. "Don't worry, I haven't been standing here that long! I-I just came over to greet the newcomer since I don't have any more lessons today." I make a mental note that he must be somewhat shy as he stutters a little as he speaks and twiddles his thumbs in his pockets, looking down.
"No worries. It is Yiruma, I'm surprised you recognised his music…" I have to physically bite my tongue to stop myself from going off on one about how amazing I think the musician is. "Though I suppose I am in a music school now."
"Right you are!" He looks around and back to me, asking with his eyes if he can come in. I nod in response and he comes over and sits on the other wooden chair in front of me. "My name is Len; may I ask for your name?"
I watch Len for a few seconds before giving up the information. "I'm Rin. Nice to meet you?" My answer is replied to with a warm smile which triggers something in my mind.
"You don't remember me?" His warm smile changes to a kind but sad one. Before I have the chance to even become confused at his question, loud babbling sounds from the corridor. I check the time.
3.30 already. I completely forget Lens previous question as I prepare myself for greeting my dorm partner. I look over at Len to see if he has noticed that lessons have finished and see an expression I was most definitely not expecting.
Fear.
"Len? Are you alri-" My question isn't given the light of day before it is shoved away by the people coming into the room.
An angry sounding voice is the first I hear: "What the hell is that doing in my dorm room? Now I'll have to disinfect everything. Ugh!" A figure comes closer to Len and I, now standing and a hand moves fast to smack him across the face.
"Did you not here me? Ge out!" The hand pushes Len violently across the room towards the door, causing him to fall over. He throws me another fearful look, scrabbles to get up and then runs out of the room, leaving me with utterly no idea on how I should be feeling with this new scenario.
"Hi! You must be my new dormie! My name is Luka; we're going to be the best of friends."
Is it me or did that last comment sound like a threat?
Hey! This was just a quick idea I had and thought instead of leaving the document to collect digital dust in my computer, I would release it to the world. My inspiration for this Rin x Len fanfic is The Phantom of the Opera so I'll be loosely following events/characters featured in the book.
Let me know if you enjoyed this and if I should continue the idea. Thank you for reading and have a nice day!