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Chapter 3
John knew that he would never make a decent impression on Clara with the beard that had come to grow on his face these past couple of days, so on Tuesday morning he took his razor and only set it back down when his face looked clean shaven. Maybe today he would muster up the courage to talk to her. Yes, definitely today.
He had gone back to the little café every single day and Clara had showed up in the early afternoon each time, except for last Sunday when John had waited in vain. When John made his way back to the spot today he had a smile stuck on his face, knowing that he would see her again. Clara's music made him happy for some reason, it gave him hope that maybe the last 50 years of his life that he had lived for music hadn't been a complete waste of time. And he loved watching her.
John knew that it wasn't right, he knew that he probably shouldn't look at a young woman like that when she didn't even know he was there and yet he couldn't stop himself. He loved watching her, he enjoyed it and he enjoyed that it turned him on, that it aroused something in him when he had already feared he was past the age where he could find enjoyment in sexuality.
Sitting down outside the café John ordered his usual iced tea and a croissant for breakfast along with the newspaper, biding his time until Clara appeared. And she did. Today she played that cello suit again, the one that had caught his attention on the very first day and he loved it even more now but he did notice that something was wrong. Clara played exceptionally well, like she always did, but somehow she didn't give it her all today. It was as if something was on her mind, distracting her, diverting her attention.
"Another iced tea?" the friendly waiter asked him and John turned around.
He smiled. "No, thank you. I'll have the bill once Clara is done playing."
"If you come here just for her every day, maybe you should talk to her," the man suggested, "Tell her you like her music."
Ah. Yes. Of course John had almost forgotten about that. Quickly he glanced over to Clara who was still playing and his courage seemed to have left him once more. He just didn't know what to say to her. Clara was perfect, her playing the cello was perfect and John knew what would happen if he just walked up to her and opened his mouth. He would stammer and blush and make a complete fool of himself and then Clara would know of his presence and John could no longer come here to listen to her. If only he was a little braver. If only he was a little younger. Maybe then he could talk to Clara.
The waiter retreated back into the café and only now John became aware that the music had stopped. He turned in his chair to see what was going on because usually Clara played for a little longer than just one piece but she was nowhere to be seen. When he turned back around however John stared straight into Clara's angry face, sitting right across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest.
"Are you stalking me?" she demanded to know, her voice ice cold.
John's jaw dropped. For a moment he was utterly lost for words, staring into Clara's beautiful face. His throat felt dry and he had absolutely no idea what to say to her, so John remained gawking at her.
"Well?" Clara asked, raising her eyebrows at him. She looked angry, which didn't exactly aid to make him feel less nervous. But still, she was so beautiful to look at that John wished she would never leave his table.
"I, uhm," he stammered, "A fan. I'm a fan."
John cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying his best to stay calm. He hadn't been so nervous because of a woman since his teenage years.
"I love hearing you play," he added, nodding towards the cello in her bag that leaned safely against a chair.
The frown on her face lifted for a brief moment before Clara looked sternly at him again. "You could've dropped some pounds in my bag then. Or said hello. You've been here every day for a week and I do like a compliment, you know?"
Finally John managed a smile. "Well, I think you are amazing. At playing the cello, I mean," he added quickly, "I'm a conductor, I've heard some good cellists during my career and you are better than most."
John could see her mouth twitch as if she wanted to smile but thought better of it. Instead her face remained ice cold. "You seem like an unemployed conductor to me, sitting in a café every day," Clara remarked.
He sighed and his gaze dropped to the empty glass in front of him. "You're not wrong. I quit my job a week ago."
"Why?"
John looked back up, her bluntness confusing him a little. But he was finally talking to her and yet it didn't seem to go the way he had wanted it to. Since she was blunt, John decided to be the same thing.
"I didn't enjoy it any longer, it just didn't feel right. The music that came from it was dull and lifeless," he said and before he could stop himself, he added: "Your music is different. I could listen to you all day long. You have a passion others lack."
Clara shrugged. "It's just a hobby. I'm a teacher."
"You should play professionally," John granted her a smile and was about to open his mouth and invite her for a drink when Clara suddenly rose from her seat.
"I better get going now. I still have some markings to do," she explained.
"Oh," John uttered, unable to hide his disappointment, "Right. Markings. Teacher."
"See you tomorrow?"
John looked up at her to see a smile on her face and he couldn't help but return it. "Yes. I'll be here."
"Good," Clara replied before she reached for her cello case and made her way down the street, not even turning around once.
John leaned back in his chair, his heart beating wildly inside his chest. He was going to see Clara again tomorrow. She had smiled at him. He had imagined that to happen so many times that he had ceased to believe it could ever be real and now he was asking himself one obvious question: now that he had talked to Clara, what would John do next?
