Liar

I

The morning sky today is cloaked in a somber shade of grey, as the rain begins to grace the earth. Those around me bid their farewells, leaving me in solitary contemplation before a gravesite adorned with the photograph of a 40-year-old lady, elegantly framed above it. The rain dampens my attire, mirroring the bleakness of my heart, yet my indifference remains unwavering. I persist in standing there, gazing upon the woman captured in the photograph for as long as I am able, for I fear that one day I might forget that very smile.

"Mother…"

***

It has been one month since the passing of my mother, and for a month now, I have refrained from laying my hands on the piano. More accurately, I find myself unable to do so. I am still grappling with the acceptance of my mother's departure. She was, indeed, the sole family member with whom I shared the closest bond. My father, uncle, aunt, and all other relatives reside distantly from my presence. The loss of my mother has rendered me bereft of the individual closest to my heart. And that object, the piano, unfailingly serves as a poignant reminder of her presence. Thus, over this past month, I have consciously avoided any locale housing a piano, including the music room within my school. I have even foregone attendance in several academic sessions that necessitated my presence in the music room. Regardless of the admonishments proffered by my instructors, I remain steadfast in my resolve to abstain from entering the music room.

However, it appears that my rather expansive school values my inherited musical talent, which stems from my mother, without considering my sentiments. No, they indeed appear rather indifferent. For instance, presently, Mr. Landers, the instructor of the music arts at Weston College, is compelling me to rendezvous with him in the music room. What is even more vexing, I am not alone in this, he is also summoning other students with raven-black hair. He stands next to Mr. Landers, wearing a rather annoying smile.

"Faustus, I am aware that the departure of your late mother must have left a profoundly deep wound in your heart." Mr. Landers conveys his greetings to start the conversation.

"I am impressed to hear that you evidently care about my feelings, Sir." My response is quite succinct; I do indeed wish to promptly exit this room.

At first glance, Mr. Landers appeared somewhat affronted by how I responded. However, he subsequently bestowed another smile upon me, all the while continuing his discourse. "But you mustn't persist in lingering within such sorrow. It has been a month already, you know."

I took a deep breath and, regardless of manners, promptly interjected Mr. Landers' sentence. "I do apologize, Sir, but I am quite certain that you summoned me and compelled my presence in the music room I've been avoiding for the past month, along with the student by your side at present, not solely to express your concern towards me. So, let us get straight to the point. What is it that you wish to discuss?"

The warm smile on Mr. Landers' countenance vanished, and his expression promptly transformed into one of solemnity. Mr. Landers turned his figure around and proceeded to approach the window.

"Faustus, I require your participation in a competition to represent the name of this institution."

"Why must it be me?"

Mr. Landers once again turned his body to face me and the other student before responding, "It is only you who possesses an extraordinary talent in playing the piano, capable of embellishing the reputation of this institution and securing triumphs for it."

Amazing. For a school of considerable size with a highly renowned reputation, to have only me as a student with extraordinary talent in playing the piano worthy of advancing in competitions is truly exceptional.