Final exams are a complete pain. I cannot wait for mine to be over.

Christine went through the following day in a haze of sorts. If Raoul or Gustave noticed, neither of them mentioned anything. She would be sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea, and her mind would flash back to that night, along with the obligatory guilt that had plagued her for the past decade since.

The dream opened many old wounds she had not been counting on revisiting, as well as many thoughts that she had pushed away long ago.

Erik was… interesting to say the least. He was an enigma that she had never been able to figure out, and his reasoning for returning Gustave had plagued her ever since that night from almost a week ago.

"I came to my senses," he had said. "I just hope that someday, in time you will come to forgive me."

That could mean quite a bit, in terms of things to forgive. Christine's fingers clenched white around the handle of her teacup, deep in thought. She barely noticed the heat from the mug burned her hands slightly.

Words only seem to do injustice...

Gustave was sitting on one of the couches holding a book, his head on his chin, a bored expression on her face. Christine glanced over at him, biting her bottom lip.

Forgive him for what he did to Gustave?

Christine was (pretty) certain that Gustave hadn't been lying when he said that Erik had never hurt or injured him in any way. The fact that the masked man had apologized in the first place was baffling to Christine. Erik had never really been one to say 'sorry.' At least, not in such a straightforward fashion.

Gustave looked up, noticeably unnerved. "Mama… what's wrong?"

Christine blinked. "Pardon?" Only then did she realize that she had been staring, and gave her son a reassuring smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I was simply lost in thought."

Gustave hummed and Christine couldn't quite tell if he saw right through her or not, his attention drifting back towards his book. The large tome was in English, not French, and Christine could only roughly understand the title of the cover.

Christine had taken only a little time to study as much English as she could before arriving, and before now it had been enough for her to get by, but she still wished to be better versed in the language. While some Americans knew other languages, English seemed to be dominant. Plus, she supposed it would only help her if she practiced a bit more…

Gustave, on the other hand, had taken like a fish to water once Christine suggested that he learn English. She had bought him a small beginner's English book she had managed to find, and within the week he had the material down and was asking her for another one.

"Already?" she had replied, but not terribly surprised. Gustave was very smart, he had definitely inherited that aspect of his personality from Erik. She had not thought about that at the time, but as she gazed at her son now, she knew it was true.

Gustave must have felt her eyes on him for he glanced up, blinking. "Mama? Is something wrong?"

Christine shook her head. "Hm? Oh, no, I was just thinking, my dear."

Gustave nodded once, looking slightly anxious under her studious gaze, before looking down at his book momentarily.

Christine bit her lip. "Gustave? I need to learn more English if I am to perform in the theater. Could you assist me?"

He nearly dropped his book in his excitement. "Sure!"

Gustave leaped up from his seat, dashing to his room (where one of his English books were stored. Christine had been slightly surprised when she found out he was taking the English books with him, but now she was rather relieved.)

With energy only a ten-year-old is able to possess, Gustave returned with the desired material in his hands. Plopping down beside her, he laid it open on the coffee table before them.

Two hours passed slowly, and Christine stared at the book before her in frustration. Her brow was furrowed as she looked down at Gustave.

"I still don't understand," she sighed. "Why are all the words pronounced so… weirdly?"

"English is odd," was the only explanation her son gave, pointing at the sentence she was supposed to translate.

The sentence was 'Je prend un sandwich et un cafe.' To Gustave, it was simple enough, especially since English and French shared many words (a few had similar pronunciations as well,) so it had been easy for him to grasp a hold on the language.

Christine, though, was having more trouble.

"I will…" she said in English, and then paused.

"Have means the same thing as prendre, Mama. To have." Gustave corrected.

"Alright." A slight pause, she leaned away from the book. She understood what the subject was, (a sandwich and coffee,) but damn, the new words twisted with her tongue and sounded terribly incorrect. English was so… odd. French sounded so much more pleasant. What normal language pronounced their H's?

"I have sandwich and coffee." Christine gave up and turned to her son. "Is that right?"

Gustave gave her a small smile. "Close enough. You're doing good though, English is really difficult."

Difficult it was, indeed. Christine pulled her son in for a tight hug.

"Thank you, Gustave. You are far more patient with me than I deserve."

"You're welcome," he chirped, feeling right at home within his mother's arms.

XXxxXX

A few hours ago Raoul had arrived home, and then took Gustave out on a walk, leaving Christine at home with only her thoughts as company. The not-so-short English lesson with Gustave had been a welcome distraction, but there was not much to do in the small flat now, other than sit and dwell.

Christine gulped. Dwelling was the last thing she wished to do at that moment.

Oh, why hadn't she accepted Raoul's invitation to go to the cafe with them? She had told him she was feeling exhausted, but that wasn't true. Christine felt fine. (Most likely thanks to the substantial amount of tea she had drunk earlier.)

She found herself wandering into her bedroom, before sitting at the vanity. It was white with a large (but not uncomfortably large) mirror, with a few drawers on each side.

Christine turned towards her dresser suddenly, an idea springing to mind. Raoul was gone, she could finally get answers…

But then she remembered that Erik had managed to abscond away with the paper holding the address. She could not visit his home, not now, anyway. She didn't have enough time.

This would not deter her, though. Blame it on the caffeine running through her veins or her stress and guilt, but Christine wanted answers.

She strode out from her room, into the parlor, reaching and grabbing her scarf from where it hung. She wrapped it around her neck and put her hand on the doorknob. If she headed out now, she might be able to stop in for a short enough visit. She could order him to tell her everything, Christine was still well aware of the power she held over the former Phantom of the Opera.

If she played her cards right, she could know everything she needed to know and still leave back to France by the end of the week.

Christine found herself hesitating, however, and her brows furrowed. The only sound was her breath, coming out quick and nervous. Her heart felt as if it were beating at a thousand miles per minute. It was simply a door-why was it so difficult for her to simply open it and pass through?

Christine let her hand drop from the doorknob, jerking back as if it had burned her palm.

Yes, she could get her answers. But maybe not today.

XXxxXX

Christine bounced slightly on the plush red seat beneath her, still marveling over the magnificence of Erik's opera-house. It truly was amazing, she noted, tilting her head up to stare at the large chandelier. Every day for the past week she had passed underneath it, yet it still stole her breath every time she saw it.

Not only that… it was clear Erik had designed the entire opera house. His touch was everywhere, inescapable, almost suffocating in its intensity.

Yet, oddly enough, she wasn't sure she wanted to run from the theater.

Meg nimbly leaped down from the stage, skipping over to where Christine sat. "C'mon!" her friend giggled, grasping her hands. "You promised you would help me practice for the ballet. I'm a pretty big deal you know. Prima ballerina." she wiggled her tutu-clad hips as she said this.

Christine held back a giggle, standing up and following the blonde dancer up the stairs, over to the wings of the stage. She turned around to gaze into the house, imagining all the seats filled with people, of the attention of thousands of theatergoers trained on her.

Christine found herself trailing into center-stage, tilting her chin up. She could almost feel the air of excitement in the room before the acts began, of the low chatter. Good lord, she had not realized how much she missed this.

She must have stood there for longer than she thought, for eventually, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"Earth to Christine?" her friend's voice asked, waking Christine from her haze.

"S-sorry, I just got carried away." She rubbed her arms, stepping away from the light and beside the shaded curtains. Meg simply gave her a knowing look, humming softly to herself.

As Christine stood in the wings watching the other ballerinas return from their break, she had the oddest feeling that she was being watched. Her first thoughts turned towards Erik and that perhaps he had changed his mind. However, the more she thought about it, the more she became sure that Erik was not there. Even as a young girl, back when he used the Angel of Music ruse, she had always been able to sense his presence in some sort of way. Goodness gracious, Christine! How paranoid can you be? She scolded herself.

No, It wasn't Erik. But if not him, then who? Christine turned around, her eyes skimming the theater.

In the corner stood a lone figure, his head tilted to the side. The strange man stood out like a sore thumb, with his mocha colored skin and bright green eyes. His bright green eyes, that were trained directly onto her, wide with what appeared to be... shock. Christine's brow furrowed.

After a few beats, the stranger realized he had been staring, blinking rapidly a few times and looking away. Whoever it was clearly wanted to speak to her, that much was obvious.

Christine was correct as he took a few steps forward, before bowing to her.

"Madame de Chagny, I was not aware you still remained in New York."

Still remained? She gave him a polite smile.

"I have made no plans to depart quite yet, monsieur…?"

"Khan," he told her. "Nadir Khan. And it truly is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame."

Nadir Khan. The name sounded terribly familiar, and now she found herself staring, trying desperately to figure out where exactly she had heard his name before.

"If you don't mind me asking…" Nadir was speaking again. "How is your son feeling? I heard he had a bit of an adventure a few days ago." His words were kind as if he were only asking out of politeness, but his eyes expressed an underlying anxiety.

Nabeer.

Christine recalled the name Gustave had mentioned that evening. The Nabeer he had talked of must have actually been Nadir, which meant that this polite man before her knew Erik. Christine did not know what to do with this information.

"Oh, he's much better now. Not so eager to go exploring anymore, you know?" she grinned. It was painfully fake, and Nadir probably saw right through it.

"No wonder," he returned her smile, and she could see the immediate change as quite a bit of tension left his shoulders. Afterward, both simply stood there for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. They both had one big... thing in common, but neither knew how to confront the elephant in their room.

It was Christine that eventually broke the silence.

"Monsieur Khan?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Please, call me Nadir."

"Okay… Nadir? It would please me greatly if you met with me in my dressing room. There are some things I would like to discuss with you, en privé."

From the fleeting look of foreboding on his face, Nadir Khan understood.

It did not take long before they both arrived at her dressing room, Christine following Nadir in and closing the door- locking it behind her.

"Make yourself comfortable, monsieur," she motioned towards the chaise lounge. He settled on the sette, and she sat across from him.

"I will say, Nadir," she offered him a slightly nervous smile, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "It really is a pleasure to meet you."

He replied likewise, and she glanced down.

"I'm sure you've heard quite a few things about me from Erik."

The words were out before she could control herself, and she raised her gaze to see his response. In any other situation, she would have found his frozen expression comedic. Nadir Khan sat stock-still, his face pale with surprise. Ah, so he must not have counted on Gustave telling her of him.

Admirably, however, he recovered rather quickly.

"How…" he paused to grasp for the right words. "How did you know I was an… acquaintance of Erik?"

Christine exhaled lightly. "Gustave mentioned you when relaying his adventure to me upon his return. Actually, he called you Nabeer, but it wasn't hard to connect the dots."

He chuckled at the last sentence. "My name's been mispronounced many different ways over the years, but Nabeer is a new one."

She nodded, and her new companion leaned back in his seat.

"I don't mean to switch the topic so fast, but I must ask, my dear. Has Erik been to see you since Gustave came back?"

Christine shook her head. "No, I haven't seen a sign of him since that night. I wouldn't be surprised if he had left the state altogether."

Nadir swallowed, his brow furrowed.

"Hm, I don't think Erik would leave so quickly, not before the upcoming show."

"Then you are surprised he has not been to see me, yet?"

He smiled sadly. "I must admit, yes, I am a little surprised. I haven't seen any sign of him since his last visit."

"Oh." was all she said. Christine was not sure whether she was pleased or disappointed by this information. She was stuck in an awkward in-between of the two emotions. Part of her worried he was hurt (or worse,) while the other part (a notably smaller part) was glad she would not be plagued by him.

"Nadir?"

The man in question tilted his head.

"Earlier you said that you were not aware that I still remained in New York. What did you mean by that? Did you think I would leave?" her tone was not unkind-just confused.

He sighed. "Honestly? I half-believed you would. Now that you have Gustave back and you know what Erik is… well… Erik, I did not think anything would hold you down here."

She mirrored his melancholic smile from earlier. "It's not that anything is holding me down, Nadir. Singing this song is something that I feel I must do. And," she glanced down once more at her hands. The words she followed her statement with felt more like a lie at this point. An accessory to back up her claims. "We need the money."

"I see." he murmured.

It was not long after his reply that Nadir Khan bid Christine farewell, leaving the theater and standing on the front steps. As the front doors closed shut behind him, the Persian found himself turning to gaze up at the Opera house. Erik's opera house.

"Great Allah," he muttered. "Erik, what mess have you done to yourself now?"

Tell me your thoughts! Nadir and Christine FINALLY met one another.

Were you satisfied with how things went?

I promise Erik will be in the next chapter.