Hanni's Gambit

6) King's Indian Defense (1. d4 Nf6)

I've never been much of a fan of music, to be honest. It's not that I dislike it; I just never found myself drawn to it like others do. But if I were to listen to music, I think I'd lean towards classical. There's something timeless and sophisticated about it, you know? The way each piece tells a story without words, drawing you into its melody and emotions. It feels like a journey through history and culture, where each note carries a depth that modern music sometimes lacks.

I imagine myself sitting in a quiet room, perhaps with a book in hand or just lost in thought, letting the soothing sounds of a violin concerto or a piano sonata wash over me. There's a sense of calm and reflection that comes with classical music, like it opens up a space for deeper introspection and appreciation of life's beauty.

Maybe someday I'll explore it more, delve into the works of Mozart, Beethoven, or Chopin. For now, though, I find solace in the silence, I don't need distraction. And I definitely do not need the distraction of music.

♟️🎓♣️

I've always found myself drawn to older people. There's a certain wisdom and experience that comes with age that I admire. They've lived through so much, seen the world change in ways I can only imagine. Conversations with them are different—deeper, more meaningful. They have stories to tell, lessons to share, and a perspective that often challenges my own.

If I'm not mistaken, and I'm never mistaken, my English teacher seems to have taken a liking to me. I sat in her classroom, one of the few who arrived early. I was engrossed in a book titled Éclats d'Éternité. It chronicled the tumultuous love story between Étienne and Amélie. Étienne, a renowned artist in his forties, exuded a brooding charm and artistic brilliance that captivated everyone around him. Amélie, a spirited and ambitious journalist in her twenties, possessed an insatiable curiosity and a knack for uncovering hidden truths.

Their paths intersected unexpectedly during a lively soirée at a Parisian art gallery, where Étienne's provocative paintings sparked both controversy and intrigue. Despite their age difference and the societal constraints threatening to keep them apart, Étienne and Amélie were drawn to each other with an intensity that defied reason.

As their passionate affair unfolded behind closed doors and amid the bustling streets of Paris, Étienne and Amélie navigated the complexities of their forbidden love.

This book was Professor Kim's book, a gift she had given me two days ago, and I'd been immersed in it ever since. Whenever I did, I felt her watching me.

Her gaze remained fixed on me, her eyes darting to capture every fleeting expression that crossed my face as I delved deeper into the book. It felt as though she wasn't just deciphering the words on the page but probing into my emotions and thoughts.

Under her watchful eye, a mix of discomfort and curiosity stirred within me. Was she analyzing my reactions to the narrative? Did she suspect the profound resonance the story held for me, unearthing emotions I hadn't fully acknowledged myself? Her own vulnerability seemed palpable, as if my interpretation of the novel bore significant weight for her.

Her demeanor betrayed a longing to understand, to grasp every nuance of my experience with the book. Was she seeking validation, reassurance that her choice of literature had sparked something profound within me? Or was it a deeper yearning, a desire to connect through the shared exploration of emotions laid bare in the pages before us?

I strove to maintain composure, focusing intently on the text while sensing her eyes lingering on me, observing every twitch of my lips, every furrow of my brow. It became an intimate exchange of glances, laden with unspoken questions and unexplored emotional terrain.