A/N: Sorry for the terribly long hiatus! I mentioned earlier that I was going through my uni exams, so it stopped me from taking out time to post. To be honest though, I have all the time in the world now and yet there's a terrible writer's block that's stopping me from writing : It might have something to do with the fact that I can't stop chain-watching korean dramas (deprived of them throughout the whole school semester lol), which makes me not want to do anything, except, well, watch the next episode, of course (Anybody here watches Healer? I'm currently on Blood).

But anyway, I have pre-written chapters, so I thought I'd just post something up, but I'm not sure if there will be new chapters regularly, at least until I get over this writer's block!

It feels a little strange to reply to reviews because it's been what, a month, and I'm still a little wobbly and trying to regain my interest in this story... so for those who have stuck around to see this new update, thank you very much!

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Chapter 6

It had been five days ever since Christine Sangare had walked out on their lesson—not that Erik had counted them. Of course, he refused to admit that perhaps he could have been less harsh on her. Nadir took great pleasure in needling him daily about the fact that his student had actually walked out on him, the lofty Erik Chanteur.

"She's not my student yet," Erik had said angrily. "And she walked out because she knew that what I'd said was right."

Nadir had merely rolled his eyes and reminded Erik that his words often tended to be a little harsher than the normal person, and that Christine Sangare had simply not been accustomed to Erik's way of speaking.

Erik walked into his music room, ruffling his hair irritably. He popped one of his favourite CDs into the stereo, and the strains of Beethoven's Pathétique filled the room, the contrasting loud chords and soft notes soothing him. He sat onto the sofa next to the stereo, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

The first rehearsal was to be in a week now. He wondered if she intended to turn up for the rehearsal without any more lessons from him—he wondered if she would have the guts to turn up and be unable to sing. John Gilford would be furious with both of them. Erik mused briefly if it would cost him his position as mentor for the theatre club. It would not be a job he missed; he had only taken on the role as a favour to the principal of the Academy, as part of the alumni. When the principal had asked him to quote his salary, Erik had asked only for a nominal fee—he saw this job as a mere voluntary act, for he did well enough from composing to live very comfortably.

Still, he did hope to see this production to its end, and he did hope to be able to teach Christine Sangare. Erik's brow knitted in frustration. He was a little of a stranger to the stronger emotions of guilt and sadness—perhaps because, as he had told her, he had never had a chance to know the man who had fathered him, but more because of the fact that Madeleine Bellerose-Chanteur had never seen much need for such emotions. His mother had never been dramatic; god forbid she show any form of hysterics or temper in public. Even within the enclaves of their own house, Madeleine Bellerose-Chanteur had been a cold, distant figure, much like the porcelain figurines she loved to collect. Erik, in time, had also learnt not to reveal much of his feelings and to keep everything tamped down. There was no need for silly emotions such as grief.

He stood with a determined look. He would wait for Christine Sangare to contact him again. The lessons were to her benefit, anyway, and he did not believe for a moment that she would dare to step into the theatre for the first rehearsal, only to embarrass herself before the theatre club and Charlotte Redcliffe.

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In the end, it was Christine who cracked first.

She had tried to convince herself that she did not care whether or not she had more lessons, that she did not care what Charlotte's reaction would be when she sang during the first rehearsal, but she had failed quite miserably. The day before, she had sat Meg down firmly in her bedroom, and declared that she would sing.

The look on Meg's face had told her everything.

Christine had steeled her nerves and forced herself to sing before an audience –it was only Meg, but it was a start—but her voice had refused to cooperate as much as she had hoped. She had managed to sing, yes, but the sound that had emerged from her throat had been far from satisfactory. She was left clinging onto the last vestiges of the feelings that had gone through her mind when she had sung at Erik Chanteur's house. The feelings of liberation and freedom and joy—she wanted to feel them again. But more than that, she was afraid that he would not turn up at the first rehearsal, and she would not be able to sing. If that happened, the role would go to Charlotte.

For the first time in two years, Christine found herself desperately wanting to hold onto this role.

After school on Monday, with more excuses made to Meg, Christine found herself on the bus to Erik Chanteur's house. She had no idea if he would be at home, and no way to contact him to find out. Thinking back, it might not have been the best idea, but it was Christine's last resort, and she was determined to sit on his doorstep until she saw the man.

She alighted at the correct stop, and made her way to the building where he lived. Sighing, she looked up at the indomitable structure, wondering what she would say to him later on, and wondering if he would still be angry.

"Looking for someone, Miss Sangare?" A deceptively calm and soft voice came from behind her, and Christine almost jumped out of her skin. She turned hastily to see the man in question standing right behind her. He was dressed casually again, in a turtleneck sweater and slacks, his hands in his pockets. His face was, as always, coolly expressionless.

"Mr Chanteur!" She blurted out, feeling her cheeks turn hot. "I—I…"

She broke off, unsure how to continue, and his brow creased, as though he did not like standing out here in the open speaking with her. She noticed several pedestrians shooting curious glances their way.

He took her elbow silently, and guided her into the building.

"Good day, Henry," he said pleasantly to the doorman, who smiled at them both.

They entered the lift quietly, with Christine still unable to formulate some words to say, and Erik his usual silent self.

"Might I inquire the reason behind this visit?" He asked, almost sarcastically. "I shall assume this is not a social call."

Christine winced. She almost preferred having him shout at her instead.

"I just… I wanted to…" She paused. He raised an eyebrow at her caustically.

"I wanted to apologise for walking out on you last week, and I wanted to ask if you could teach me again," she said quickly in a rush. "But I'm not going to apologize for getting upset about your words."

"Hmm," he agreed nonchalantly. "Perhaps I was too harsh."

She stared at him, thinking that she must have heard him wrongly. "I'm sorry?"

Now he looked annoyed. "Do not make me repeat what I say twice, Miss Sangare. I will not apologize, either, for saying those words to you, because I will stand by what I said. However, I shall agree that perhaps my choice of words was too harsh for the situation. You must understand that strong emotions are somewhat of a stranger to me. Now, can we put this behind us and continue with our lessons?"

He said it all in a very brisk, very business-like tone, as though the two of them were merely discussing a business deal, and not the argument they had had. His voice was almost emotionless, like his claim of being a stranger to emotions.

Christine nodded slowly. "Yes. I would like that very much."

"Good." He gestured for her to follow him to the music room.

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It was dinnertime in the Gables' household, and Christine sat at the dining table with Meg and Mrs Gables, the clinking of their spoons against the bowls punctuated by Meg's usual chatter.

"Could I ask a favour?" Christine asked suddenly.

Mrs Gables smiled at her. "What is it, Christine?"

"Could I sing for you both later? Just one song?" Christine looked at them beseechingly. "It's just… the rehearsal is tomorrow, and I want to try singing before an audience."

Meg nodded around a mouthful of ravioli. "Oh yes. I think you'd better. The last time you sang to me…" She trailed off, wincing. "Let's just say that I've seen you at your best before."

Christine mock-glared at Meg, though she knew that Meg was right. Mrs Gables nodded affably.

"I don't see why not. You used to sing for us all the time, when we had you and your father over for dinner. I must say I have missed hearing you sing, Christine." She smiled warmly. "What are you singing?"

"Think of Me," Christine said, "From the Phantom of the Opera."

"Oh, your papa did so love that musical!" Mrs Gables said, smiling broadly. "Go on, then."

Christine took a sip of water from her glass. She stood nervously. "If it's bad… just let me know. Please. I don't want to be a laughingstock during the rehearsal."

She took a deep breath. It was only Meg and Mrs Gables, after all. They of all people would not judge her. She could do this. For the past three days, she had been working hard with Mr Chanteur. He had drilled her relentlessly on her basics, claiming that she had had to start from scratch. It had taken many long, painful hours, and a lot of frustration on her part, for she insisted that she had learnt it all before. And yet he had been right to start her from scratch, for Christine somehow felt better about singing than she had felt for two years.

She clenched her fists momentarily, then forced herself to relax; tensing up would not help her in any way. Then, without any musical accompaniment, Christine sang.

She sang a little haltingly at first, unsure of whether she would be able to pull it off. As she sang, she realized that she was looking into the expectant faces of Mrs Gables and Meg, and that stifling feeling in her throat, the one that always stopped her from singing, was almost absent. She still felt it –she did not expect Erik Chanteur to have worked miracles with it—but somehow, she fought on. Christine thought of his commanding presence, and she felt more confident. She let herself be immersed in the song, and she sang.

When the short piece was over, she looked at them apprehensively. Mrs Gables had a wistful look on her face, and Meg looked positively delighted.

"Oh, Christine Sangare!" She leapt up from the table, almost upsetting her glass of water in the process. "What sorcery have you been up to?"

"Was it fine, Meg?" Christine asked, grimacing a little.

"It was brilliant!" Meg exclaimed, grabbing Christine's shoulders. "I haven't heard you sing like that… well… the last time was on the day of the audition when Mr Chanteur forced you to sing, but before that it was a whole two years of silence! What changed? What's happened?"

Christine shrugged. "I'll tell you more about it soon, Meg," she murmured, a little unwilling to speak of her lessons with Mr Chanteur so openly. "Do you think I am ready for the rehearsal?"

"You definitely are," Mrs Gables said, standing up to clear the table. "Christine, I must say it is wonderful to hear you sing again."

That night, Christine lay on her bed in her dark room, staring at the rivulets of light creeping in through the gap in the curtains.

Two years, papa. Two years spent in silence.

You must have been so ashamed. That your daughter should let your death and subsequent loss of affection stop her from singing.

No more, papa, I vow it. You will be proud of me, I promise.

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A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! As usual, please fav/follow/leave a review to let me know what you think!