The Musician

so this is love.

*AUTHOR'S NOTE

*Onisan means 'brother' in Japanese.

You have that glint in your eyes, Kousei had told me as we were standing on our balcony, gazing out at the starry night sky as cherry blossom petals flew by in a whirlwind. You have the look in your eyes, a look like you might be in love.

What do you mean, onisan? I asked in confusion. Remember, this happened a year ago, when I was thirteen. 

When you fall in love, Kousei began. Your world is filled with colour, sounds become more clear, and everything is more vivid. The previously monotone world is now filled with exotic smells and colours and sounds, it's beautiful. Everything is so bright. And you're suddenly happy, like you've never been happy before. 

I tilted my head to the side. Huh. So that's what it's like when you're in love. I looked up at my big brother. Have you ever been in love?

Kousei laughed and nodded, smiling. Yes, I have, in fact. Her names was Kaori, but we all called her Kao. She was a violinist, and the most beautiful girl in the world. She looked a lot like you, actually. Kousei looked at the sky, a misty look in his eyes, like he was remembering old times. Kao was the brightest and most bubbly girl in the world. She was actually the one who got me back into music when she asked me to be her accompanist when hers left her. I never realised that I loved her until... He trailed off, as if he was unsure of what had happened only a few months ago. 

What happened to her, onisan? 

Kousei looked up at the sky again as a tear rolled down his cheek. I gasped and hugged him, and he cried into my shoulder. She died, didn't she. Kousei just barely nodded, or, at least I think he did, and I held him closer.  It was in the news. I didn't read the article, but it said something about Kirigaya Kaori's death. I'm... I'm so sorry, onisan. 

And we sat there like that on our balcony. We sat on the cold tile floor as the stars gleamed even brighter. 

Later that night, when I was laying in bed, I heard Kousei playing the piano. He was playing the song he hated with his entire body. Love's Sorrow, by Fritz Kreisler. But he was jumping between Love's Sorrow and Love's Joy, a signature thing he loved doing. I grabbed my phone and asked Kousei's best friend what had happened in full detail.

What I heard was shocking. 

Apparently, Kirigaya Kaori had been diagnosed with a sickness that would only give her until the age of fourteen to live. She had died a month ago, and had given Kousei a letter explaining what had happened. 

She had written that she told one lie: that she liked Takeshi Rin. Really, she loved Kousei, but he didn't know that. It was the saddest thing I had ever heard. But the worst part was that within the letter was a photo of her when she was younger with Kousei's rival pianist, Akko Amireko. In the background was Kousei, looking at the camera shyly. 

I had seen the photo framed and hanging on the wall next to his bed in Kousei's room, but I had never gotten a close look at it. 

Before I went to sleep that night, I thought to myself words that Kousei had told me a million times.

If you're in love, sometimes music can transcend words.