Thank you for all the kind reviews! It makes me happy to know there are still people reading this. :)

Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does.

Dear Diary,

So, when Erik finally asked me out (!) two days ago, we'd settled that our first date should happen in a week's time, on Saturday. This meant we would have three lessons in the meantime (recently we've been doing lessons Monday-Wednesday-Friday, at my house), and, I know I should have expected it, but it's now really difficult to know how to interact with each other!

Since today is Monday, we had a lesson in the late afternoon.

Erik showed up looking even more dressed-up than usual, and carrying an armful of flowers. As in, an enormous, very expensive-looking bouquet. I was pleased but slightly taken aback. Also, to make things more awkward, he was now seemingly incapable of looking me in the eye.

"Thank you! That's very sweet of you. What's… the occasion?"

He paused before answering: "I —… It is customary for men to bring flowers to the women they are, err, courting, is it not?"

"Oh. Yes. I think so? Thank you." I blushed. "But don't feel like you have to!"

"I enjoy buying you things." He nodded towards the flowers: "Do you like these? I can get you different ones if not."

"No — they are lovely!"

"Good. Good."

We arranged the flowers in a vase, set them on the coffee table, then began our lesson.

It actually went very normally, all things considered. We just focused on my singing, and acted like nothing was different from usual. I was in pretty good voice, too, which was nice.

It was only about ten minutes from the official end of the lesson that he pulled out some more sheet music from his briefcase, and set it on the piano. I looked at it over his shoulder, and saw that it was a song, — with 'For Christine' written at the top.

Before I could say anything, he launched into an explanation: "After — we said 'goodnight', that evening, I could not sleep, so I wrote you something instead. It is a setting of a French poem by Sully Prudhomme. I hope you will like it."

He gestured towards the sofa. "Please take a seat, and I will sing it for you."

I was immediately very excited, because it's always a real treat to hear Erik sing, and on top of this I was flustered that he'd written a song for me.

He played a short introduction, then began to sing:

"Si tu m'appartenais (faisons ce rêve étrange ! )…"

Everything about it was beautiful. The melody, his singing, the piano part, the words — everything. The more he sang, and the more I found myself blushing and smiling. I almost felt like I would get a cramp in my face from so much smiling.

It was so unbelievably romantic, too. My French is so-so, and I was unfamiliar with the poem, but I still got the general gist. I looked it up after he left, and it's really very touching. It ends:

"Oh ! Comprends ce qu'il souffre et sens bien comme il aime,

Celui qui poserait, au lever du soleil,

Un bouquet, invisible encor, sur ton sein même,

Pour placer ton bonheur plus près de ton réveil !"

When the song was over, we sat in silence for a little bit, both too moved to speak, while I looked at him and he kept looking down at the piano keys.

When I'd recovered myself a bit, I finally said, "Thank you. It's beautiful."

From the movement of his jaw under the mask, I think he smiled. Then, he said, rather tentatively:

"You are beautiful."

I didn't know what to say to that — 'thank you' seemed inadequate — so we just sat there in awkward silence for a bit longer. I felt bad, but I really couldn't think of anything to say. It was like I'd suddenly become really stupid.

I was still trying to figure out how to start the conversation again, when Erik suddenly said, "Right. I should get going!" and began packing up with surprising speed.

"Oh. Do you have to go immediately? I could make you some tea!"

"It's very kind of you to offer, but I'm afraid I really must go."

From the way he was rushing to get out, I got the impression he was unhappy.

"Wait! What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he snapped back.

I stepped in front of him in such a way that I was blocking the door. "Something is wrong. What is it?"

"Why do you have to be so —…" He sighed. "Everything is fine. Please do not mind me. You are not to blame for my foolishness."

The more he spoke, the more he sounded like he might burst into tears.

"What foolishness?"

"The other evening —…" Again, he drifted off.

By this point, I was feeling pretty anxious. "You don't want to go on a date with me anymore — because I'm too immature?"

For the first time since he'd arrived an hour earlier, he looked at me. "What? No!'

"Then what?"

"I thought you — had, well, come to your senses — as it were."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You did not seem pleased to see me at all."

It was too ridiculous for words. "If you'd only looked at me a single time since you arrived, you would have seen how I was beaming at you the whole time!"

"Were you really?"

"Yes!"

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and then, just as suddenly as he had become upset, he began to laugh happily. "What a fool I am! I hope you can forgive me?"

"Of course." I smiled. "We are still having coffee on Saturday?"

"Of course!"

We beamed at each other silently for a bit, just like two days earlier, then he said, "May I kiss your hand again?"

I nodded and held it out. He took it, leaned over, lifted his mask slightly, and pressed a very long kiss to the back of my hand. (By 'long', I mean that it lasted a full ten seconds. I counted.)

I wished him a good night, to which he replied, "Good night, my dearest Christine!" and left.

I looked out of the window to see him walk to his car, and, believe it or not, I actually saw him skip for a few steps!