Erik was unusually busy that day. He had had several clients come in with new tasks for him. He knew intuitively that there must have been the beginning of an orchestra for a school or something going on in the area. The majority of the customers that had come in during the past few days had either been children, or parents on their child's behalf.
He was nearly crowded into his office for the amount of every sort of string instrument you would find in an orchestra being packed into it around his desk. He had repairs of all sorts to do, on top of the usual tuning and servicing. This was one of the times where he almost wished he had an assistant, but his overwhelming and inherent mistrust for anyone other than himself would not allow him such a luxury.
Groaning inwardly, Erik began sorting the instruments. He sectioned the perimeter of his office for each different instrument type and then in smaller categories by repair or servicing severity.
It took him hours to sort them all, and Erik felt only slightly productive by the time he was done. He knew he could have spent that time actually working on the instruments, but he would be better able to work now that they were all more organized.
The ring of the door made him perk up. He knew it was time for Christine to be coming in that day and wondered if it was her. The tell-tale sound of a bowl of candy being prepared and set out had him instantly on his feet. His suspicion having been confirmed, he smoothed his hair and made sure his mask was securely in place before opening his door.
"Good morning, Erik," Christine greeted him cheerfully.
Erik smiled in return to the one he could hear in her voice. "Good morning to you as well, Christine."
They talked casually through the day, Erik taking particular notice of the melodic quality of her voice. He took a special sort of pride in the fact that she was improving so much under his instruction. Her voice was improving so rapidly, he almost wondered if she already been taught all of it before.
"So, how much training have you had before I started helping you?" he interrupted in the middle of their conversation.
Christine was taken aback for a moment, her voice becoming silent and only the slight rustle of her clothes filled the silence before she responded.
"I don't know why you ask," she said hesitantly, "but I have almost always been in a choir or singing class of some sort. Only a few years ago did I decide to actually be tutored, and you know how that turned out."
Erik nodded solemnly. Her previous tutors sounded as if they wouldn't have been able to get a player piano to play correctly, so he assumed they had most likely not taught her anything useful. Perhaps her classes had been useful to her, though they very rarely ever were for this type of thing.
"My apologies," he said, "I was simply wondering if you had been taught well somewhere before my help. You learn so quickly I thought you might have already known some of it."
Christine laughed.
"Thank you," she said, "My father always said I was quick to learn when it came to music. I never really believed him until now. I suppose he may have taught me a few things when I was young. I don't really remember, but that could be part of what you were wondering about."
Erik agreed thoughtfully. He hadn't heard her talk much about her father before. It was evident from how she referred to him that she had loved him tremendously, but he had very little information about her past other than her musical profession and the few times she had mentioned her father or 'Raoul'.
"What was your father like?" Erik asked before he could stop himself.
There was an awkward silence, and Christine sighed.
Erik was about to apologize, when Christine spoke.
"He loved music more than life," she said, "and he loved me more than music."
There was an incredibly sad tone in her voice that made Erik's heart sink.
"One day, we were walking down the street, papa was playing his violin, and a few children were following us to listen. I was weaving some flowers together for him and not watching where I was walking. I stepped right off the edge of a ditch on the side of the road. The bottom was full of old, broken bottles. I let out a yelp, and before I hit the ground, I was in his arms," She told Erik mournfully, "I asked him where his violin was. He had dropped it the moment he saw me begin to fall. He never gave it a second thought if it meant keeping me safe. He simply told me "I'd give up my ears, eyes, and hands for you," and picked up the instrument. He had to repair it himself, as we didn't have the money at the time to get it professionally done, but he never complained."
Erik smiled sadly. The love in her voice as she told him the story made his heart ache. He had never had anyone care for him in that way as a child. He longed to be one of the people who could tell stories like that, with so much emotion others couldn't help but understand the significance of what was being said.
Clearing her throat, Christine returned the smile to her voice.
"Your turn," she said, making Erik start, "Tell me about your parents."
Erik felt the blood drain from his face. He had never had to explain his past to others before. He either refused to talk to them about anything personal, or, in one case, they already knew. His mind raced with excuses he could give to get him out of having to.
"Uh," he began, ever so eloquently, "I don't think you would be interested in hearing about my parents."
To this feeble excuse, he found himself in a more uncomfortable silence. He could tell Christine was not going to let it go. She would be able to see straight through his charade.
"Okay," she replied, much to Erik's surprise, "If you don't feel comfortable telling me yet, I won't make you. At least tell me how you became so good at music though."
Erik smiled in both shock and relief.
"Ah, I suppose I'm what people call a "savant" of sorts. I can't very well be talented at such things as art or sports, so my mind found something else to occupy itself. Music."
Christine laughed.
"Well, I can't say I'm that surprised at your answer. It must take a certain level of genius to even be able to play an instrument without the use of your eyes."
Erik chuckled in response.
"I suppose so," he said.
Raoul plunged his hand into his pocket for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. His fingers brushed the small box and his pulse relaxed. Christine had said she wanted to talk to him, and he immediately thought she might be accepting.
He knew he shouldn't be too sure, but he had prepared, just in case. He didn't see any reason why she would decide not to accept his proposal, so he considered it only a matter of time before the ring was needed in any case.
He checked his watch nervously and glanced around. She had a minute and a half before she was officially late.
Taking a sip of his water, he tried to not completely freak out.
He heard the door open beside him and nearly knocked over his glass to turn toward it.
There she was.
Her hair caught the light, bouncing in perfect, gentle curls. Her lips were naturally pink and her cheeks had a bright blush, as if she had just been hurrying. She was wearing the scarf, and Raoul had to remind himself to keep breathing.
Their eyes locked and they exchanged smiles before she came over to him.
She sat across from him and he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach.
"Raoul," she began, "I know you think you know what I wanted to talk to you about. You're wrong. This is not about your proposal, but it may end up being connected. Please, don't get too excited."
Raoul nodded, slipping his hand out of his pocket as inconspicuously as he could. Resting both elbows on the table (inwardly hearing his brother tell him it was ungentlemanly to do so), he pasted a false interested smile onto his face. Whatever this was about just became much less important to him.
He took a few gulps of his water as Christine began to talk. He found he couldn't quite pay attention anymore. His mind was wandering and his eyes were fixed on the red scarf she was wearing.
Her hands wrapped themselves in it and held it as if it was important for what she was saying. The weather was warm that day, so she was wearing it more as a fashion statement than for a functional item. His mind was so fixed, he only barely noticed her pale, slender fingers as they manipulated the item.
His mind raced with thoughts he knew were completely unfounded, but he couldn't help but think them despite this.
He had given everything for her. Hadn't he? He had risked his health for the seemingly insignificant scarf that she wore that day. He had to risk his profession to continue seeing her. She didn't know that bit, but he felt it made it so he deserved to have his feelings reciprocated in the least.
Tuning back into the conversation, Raoul was caught off guard.
"So, I think it might not be a very good idea for us to make that sort of commitment right now," Christine was concluding with a worried look on her face.
"Wait. What? Why?" Raoul asked, panicking.
Christine tilted her head, further furrowing her brow.
"I just explained how I feel. Didn't you hear a thing I said?" she asked.
Raoul felt attacked.
"Of course I heard what you said. I just don't understand why you feel this way."
Christine looked down at her hands. When she looked back up at Raoul, her beautiful, blue eyes were filled with tears.
"Raoul, I love you, but you don't act like you love me enough for me to marry you."
With that, she stood up stiffly and rushed out the door.
Raoul sat in shock for a few minutes before his brain processed what had just happened. He ran to the door, but she was already out of view by the time he got there.
As if on cue, the clouds directly above the cafe began to rain down on him and Raoul thought of how stereotypically cartoonish this was. He walked away from the cafe with dripping hair and a heartbroken feeling in his chest.
Christine sobbed into her pillow as Meg sat quietly on the couch next to her.
"I bet he hates me and never wants to talk to me again," Christine all but wailed, "I basically rejected him. I was so upset, I didn't think about what I was saying. I should never make him feel how he must feel right now. I might have broken his heart, Meg. What can I do?"
Meg shook her head.
"Christine, you did nothing wrong. He completely ignored you when you were trying to be sensitive to his feelings. He's the one who messed up. I say, if he can't even listen when you're trying to tell him something that important, drop him like he's hot."
Meg said this with such finality, it made Christine burst into a fresh bout of sobs.
Meg sighed and stood. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed two spoons and a couple containers of ice cream. She plopped herself back down next to her flatmate, opened a container and offered it to Christine with a spoon already in it.
"You need it," she said to Christine's confused look, "Just take it, and we'll watch some sad movies together. Call into work sick if you have to."
Christine smiled, taking the tub from her and sniffling quietly. Meg fetched some big quilts and the remote. She turned on a sad movie and bundled her flatmate up properly, sitting next to her with her own ice cream and blanket.
This was going to be a long road to recovery for her, but Meg was determined to get her there.
Author's Note: Hey, I'm sorry it's taking me so long to update. I'm doing some research for the upcoming chapters, and it's more of a rabbit hole than I intended. I'm just trying to make it as good as possible and I hope you keep reading and enjoying it. Thank you for your patience whether you like it or not.