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iii. pianist
jameslily
You find her one day, straight-backed and poised, fingers pressed to the ivory keys that gleam eerily in the low light.
She's smiling, her flaming hair pushed back behind her ears as her fingertips ghost over the whites and blacks. Each note vibrates gently in the air and then slowly fades to nothing.
You grin, leaning against the doorframe lazily. "I didn't know you could play."
She turns her head in shock, eyes widening as she realises she's being watched. "Oh, it's you. I don't play, or at least, not well."
"Well enough," you say.
She smiles in return. "Thanks."