Gemotions

Elara had ducked into the park, seeking solace under the sprawling branches of an ancient oak. She found it, only to be ambushed by the strains of her piano piece, "Whispers of the Wind," drifting from a nearby gazebo. A teenage boy with a mop of unruly hair sat at the piano, his fingers fumbling over the keys.

He missed notes, stumbled on the tempo, and the music, although off-key, was still recognizable. Her breath hitched. The music had become his.

Elara watched, unseen, as he struggled. She saw him bite his lip, the concentration etched on his face. She remembered when she first crafted it, the loneliness that spurred the melodies. He was working hard.

She found herself, slowly, relaxing in her position, her shoulders slowly lowering. He'd find his rhythm eventually.