Gemotions

The sharp rap on the door echoed in Clara's quiet apartment. It was Mr. Petro, complaining, once more, about the piano practice. She smoothed down her already perfect hair. She was a pianist and had a concert coming up.

She opened the door with a bright smile. “Good morning, Mr. Petro! Come in.” Her voice was upbeat. Maybe if she showed him the music, let him see how much work she'd put into her craft, he would understand.

“Perhaps, if you could hear the music,” she began, “you might see…” Her voice trailed off, but her gaze remained on his face. She felt a lightness in her chest.