The Juilliard School was visible to his eyesight. Evan and Reverend James were at The Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in Lincoln Square. Reverend James could see the amazement in the eyes of a boy named August Rush.

Hope had told him on how talented the boy was. After watching him played music so beautiful to his ears, to anyone's ears, he knew that August was special. He found Evan so easily lovable yet the boy was full of mysteries and secrets. He didn't even tell him anything about his origins.

Why was he here? Was he an orphan? He couldn't find anything. That had made August even more special. He knew that August's talent shouldn't be wasted. When August himself showed that he had always believed in music, he enrolled the boy in Juilliard knowing that the school would welcome him with open hearts.

Evan started his class in Juilliard immediately after he got accepted under the tutelage of Professor Sullivan.

"You brought us a prodigy, Reverend." The Dean said looking at August while he was focused on his first day.

It was no surprise to Reverend James that she would be surprised by August's talented. It looked like the eleven-year-old boy had that effect on people.

"He is a mystery. Dean, I thought he was an angel," he remembered searching the records of August Rush for hours and couldn't find nothing. "There's no records of an August Rush, anywhere."

Louis picked up his guitar and played the song he wrote for Lyla when he was in Chicago. He realized that he was on the same stage when The Connelly Brothers played here eleven years ago.

He was onstage alone for the moment, but when he started playing the tunes, he felt like he belong to someone again. Maybe, when he was alone all this time, music was the only thing that could kept him sane. Sort of.

He was confident that Frank would love it. He knew because the song was written straight from his heart. He named it 'Something Inside' as a symbol of what he felt and experienced.

It's the first thing you see as you opened your eyes,

The last thing you say as you're saying goodbye,

Something inside you is crying,

And driving you on…

Lyla picked up her cello and started rehearsing for The New York Philharmonic. Her name had already been listed as the guest cellist of the concert that would be held soon. She wasn't sure if she could let herself be onstage again after more than a decade, but she must play.

She had to play. She needed to play. That was the only way left for her to find her long-lost son. She was hoping that he could hear her calling for him, for them through every notes and melodies.

Lyla was sliding the bow across her cello's strings when her lack of confidence attacked her mind once again. "This piece," she gave Lizzie a sigh. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Lyla," Lizzie did her best to calm her down. She put her hands on Lyla's shoulder. "You're pushing yourself to hard. But, you're playing with The Philharmonic," she gave her reassuring smile. "That's great!"

Lyla stared at Evan's picture. She looked at his big-blue eyes and his smile that looked even more beautiful with his perfect dimples on his right and left cheeks. He believes in music, Lyla. Do you?

"Okay. Let's keep going."

"Start with a C major chord, then a modulation to G," Professor Sullivan explained to his class. Evan was listening to the professor, but he was also listening to the music around him.

"Once we get to G, you go back to C. It's very simple. And we have C, G, C," the professor continued.

After that, all he knew was that he was writing the notes of the music he heard. Professor Sullivan's voice was there but sometimes it was vague. "We have…chaotic evolution…remote G major…"

"What's this, August?" Professor Sullivan suddenly was right beside him.

"The diminished fifth, sir." Evan showed him his notes that were disorganize. There were his own notes and Professor Sullivan's notes. He decided to tell Professor Sullivan what he had learned. "Key change, here. And then the rise with those round horns…" he tried to remember what it was. "The…the oboes, into the allegro staccato strings.

The next morning, Evan Taylor or August Rush was called to The Dean's office. As soon as he close The Dean's door, he said, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing, August?"

Evan looked around the room. There was a large meeting table. Every seat had been sat by people he didn't know. There was only one chair that was not taken. "Sometimes, I don't listen well. And I didn't do the homework like I'm supposed to," he spoke the utterly truth.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do better in the future," The Dean smile. "Please, have a seat." She waited until he was comfortable in his seat and said, "The New York Philharmonic is having a concert. In the history of this school, we have never performed the work of a first year student," she looked at Evan's blue eyes and continued, "And certainly, no one of your age."

Suddenly, Evan felt like crying. But, the feeling was gone when The Dean said, "But now, we have asked them if they could perform your rhapsody," Evan's face lit up instantly. "Would you like that?"

Yes!!! He wanted to burst out screaming 'Yes!!!' But, he remained silent and let his head and shoulders did the nodding and shrugging.

"Good. Good."

"How many people will hear it?" he couldn't help but asking. It didn't even bother him on how everyone in the room was looking at him as if he was being ridiculous. He needed to know.

"It will be performed in Central Park. On the Great Lawn."

"A hundred?"

"Oh…" The Dean gave him a comfortable chuckle. "Much more. Thousands."

Thousands? Perfect! Thousands is a lot of number. The two of them could be there. "Okay, cause I need to play to a lot of people. Lots and lots of people."

The entire room filled with comfortable laughter. "We'll see what we can do to help. August, in the concert, three artists will be performing and you will be featured last."

"Who are the other two artists?"

"Well, both of them were Juilliard's former students. I guess you could call them your seniors. Lionel Wigram is the pianist and Lyla Novacek is the cellist."