Gemotions

The silence in the concert hall was deafening. Alex, clutching his violin, felt his hands begin to sweat. He'd come to play for Maestro Rossi, to show him the progress he'd made. He longed for the man's approval, his encouraging nod. He had practiced relentlessly, fueled by the maestro’s critiques. He thought the performance was good. He *knew* it.

The maestro’s chair was empty. A single sheet of paper lay on the music stand. *Alex, your music has wings. Fly.* The words were simple, yet they stirred a fire within him. His throat tightened, but he wouldn't break. He raised his bow, took a deep breath, and began to play. The music poured out of him, a torrent of emotion, a dedication to the craft. He played as he never had before, a promise to himself.