A Tryst

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MIRANDA

Whenever I do street performances I'm lucky enough that I get a good audience. Having street pianos around made it possible for me to do it once in a while. When I'm trying to think, kill time or just when the impulse to play hit, I play. I could use the money too. Hands gliding over white and black keys, I immersed myself in the music, casually looking up and smiling at the gathering crowd. The truth was they were all faceless to me.

Rachmaninov's piano concerto no.2. His redeeming piece after the fiasco of his first composition. He was on his lowest but he rose above it and soared even higher after this piece was introduced. Creating it for the person who helped him up, Rachmaninov showed his gratitude. So when I play this, in a way, I am also singing my thanks to the one who offered a hand to me. And I, personally, liked the challenge the piece offered.

Engrossed in playing, it was only towards the end of the piece did I notice the man in front of me. On his face were purple to faded bruises. His attendant was behind him. He was intently focused on me that I suddenly grew conscious. People staring at me as I performed never got to me. I get the same vibe from the audience as Ruen and I played. The only difference was that I could not hide behind the mask and pretend I don't care. And quite frankly, it is usually Ruen's performance that caught their attention. Not me.

He'd leave sooner or later.

Mentally choosing another classical piece, my fingers found the keys one by one–Pathétique Sonata by Beethoven. There are only a few of classics I know by heart so sooner or later I'd have to choose popular melodies if I wanted to play until afternoon. Not once did I look up to check if the man was still there. I played to my heart's content.

"Hi, uh... uhm..."

I was already leaving after hours of being seated when I heard a voice that has a feminine timbre. My legs were a little numb so I just turned from my seat. It was the man from before. Unsure of himself, he was playing with his soft curls. His eyes were beautifully green that I found myself getting lost in them.

"Raven." He offered his hand for a shake. There were faint wounds–scars on his hands. He softly bit on his bottom lip when I was too stunned to return the greeting. "My name's Raven. May I ask for yours?"

His cheeks were starting to turn red. Admittedly, I found it too cute for a man–any man to easily blush. His features were feminine? Before he could withdraw, I reached for his outstretched hand. "Miranda."

"Your hand's so soft." He muttered.

It also made me wonder. His fingers were slender though his veins were impossible to miss. He must be lifting weights or something. However, my gaze fell on the wheelchair he was on.

"Doctor's said it's temporary but I don't think..." He cut himself short before he could reveal more to a stranger.

"If the doctor said so, it should be. Though it's up to you on how fast you could recover." I let his hand go and straightened up. It hit me on how suddenly I was reluctant to leave. "You could do it. One day at a time, hmm?"

Why am I suddenly cheering him on?

My words surprised him. I'd honestly say I surprised myself too. I never showed this level of interest in others. I have friends but I have never so readily concerned myself with their affairs unless they asked. I never wanted to be so involved or invested.

Yeah, that's why I'm very single.

I don't think I'm cut out for one. As long as I have Rue, I don't think I'd need anyone else. Now, think I'm hearing my friend's voice telling me to find myself a man. The idea of meeting let alone being in a relationship with one didn't appeal to me. Maybe I just haven't had the chance to meet the right man.

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