December Rain فتاة الغاب

The identity of the music maker ||هوية صانع الموسيقى

***Harry pov***

It was a strange feeling, as if I were someone else entirely. I had lived through enough pain to become someone who couldn't feel anything at all.

One day, while I was sitting in the hall during the lecture,  staring out the window, oblivious to the professor's words, who constantly asked me to pay attention to the lesson, I noticed the building of the university administration. It was a place we all hated passing by for various reasons, the most notable being the old man, Jack. We still didn't understand his role there, but he was a harsh man, and you could always hear his shouting whenever a student approached the building. And the students often looked at me as if I were the hero destined to avenge them when I entered the building without him yelling at me.

That day, I saw Jack pushing a girl near the building. She stood up again, gathered her things, and left in silence. She always appeared out of nowhere, stirring many questions in my mind, ignoring everyone around her, just like that night in the library.

"What are you looking at?" the girl sitting in front of me asked, snapping me out of my daydream. I looked back at the professor, who had written nearly a thousand words on the board, while the other students were lost in their own worlds. Each of us had his own world, a world we didn't share with anyone, just like my world, filled with memories I wished I could forget.

"Did crazy Jack do something funny? I've never seen you smile before," the girl added.

"Maybe," I replied, the smile fading from my face. It was strange that I had started counting the times I smiled. This was only the second time after reading her letter that night, which was the first.

The lectures ended, and I headed to the library to return the book before going back to my dorm, which I had recently moved into. It was the only vacant room in the girls' dormitory. Another night passed without playing the piano, and for the second time, I found a note from her, the girl whose name I still don't know, asking me to play late at night. But that night, I didn't. Days and nights passed without me playing, and that corner of the room became filled with her letters until she lost hope and stopped sending them.

*** Sarah POV ***

I was always the last person to leave the dorm for the university. Unlike the other girls, I didn't exercise in the morning, I didn't have a boyfriend to meet, and I didn't have a job to go to. That day, after I finished packing my bag, I approached the door of my room to open it and found a box.

"I should have answered this question before. I'm not a ghost; I'm human. Thank you for not getting tired of the bad music I was making."

Those words were written on the box, which, upon opening, I found contained a piece of apple pie.

*** Harry POV ***

Maybe I thought it would end there when I decided to stop playing. The piano was my only way to make friends and connections with others, and that was the cause of the troubles that happened. Perhaps that girl, if she knew about me, would have tried to get close to me, as happened years ago, and it would always end sadly. It was nine in the evening when I was sitting on the bed reading one of the books I borrowed from the library. A month had passed without me using the piano, and I no longer received those letters asking me to play again. She had forgotten about me, just like everyone else. People always loved my music but never loved the gloomy man who made it.

***

***هاري***

لقد كان شعورا غريبا أني لم أشعر بشيئ حينها كما لو أني شخص آخر مختلف تماما لقد عشت ما يكفي من الألم لأكون شخصا لا يستطيع الشعور بشيئ أساسا