‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹

With a deep breath, I stand, violin and bow in hand, and make my way to the stage.

A part of me feels as if I am intruding on this small world that Ben has created for himself. This is his domain I'm trespassing and I have to tread very lightly.

I stand by the platform, not feeling confident enough to share the main spotlight with him. The dim lighting casts a soft glow over Ben's hunched figure as his fingers glide effortlessly over the keys, coaxing out a melody that tugs at something deep inside my chest.

He hasn't noticed me yet.

I take my time lifting my violin with practiced ease. My bow rests in my hand like an extension of myself, and I inhale slowly, centering myself.

Ben's playing is fluid but reserved, like he's holding back. The notes drift through the quiet restaurant, delicate yet hesitant.

I carefully analyze the pacing and patterns in the piece he is playing, calculating how my instrument will best fit. I want to play in a way that enhances his playing but does not overpower it.

I don't give myself another chance to second-guess.

Lifting my violin to my shoulder, I close my eyes and join in as soon as he begins a new chord progression.

The first note I drag out is soft yet careful–a question rather than a statement.

I want him to know I want in, that I'm here.

Ben's fingers falter for the briefest second, but his playing doesn't reflect that. I only knew because I physically saw the way they twitched for a slight moment before resuming.

Then, something shifts.

His playing adjusts, reacting to me as if it were answering my unspoken call. I follow through with the change, letting my bow glide along the strings to meet him halfway.

It's exhilarating.

Each note he plays, I compliment, weaving harmonies into his hesitant melody. The song transforms, deepens–what was once a lonely quiet piece now pulses with something more. A conversation. A connection.

If he didn't see me before, he sees me now.

Ben tilts his head slightly, a muscle in his jaw tightening. His fingers press more firmly into the keys, testing me. The tempo quickens.

I don't hesitate to keep up, which I'm positive only frustrates him rather than impresses him.

The music swells between us, filling the restaurant, turning heads. The few customers present, who had barely paid attention before, are now watching, entranced.

I barely register the overwhelming grin plastered on Aiden's face from his booth.

Because right now, I'm solely focused on what's brewing up here. It's just me and Ben right now.

And for the first time, I feel him actually listening.

No more hesitance. No more restraint.

He's playing loudly, his notes dripping with a passion he didn't play with before I joined in.

And suddenly, I know–

I've got him.

If he really was bothered by my presence, he would have stopped playing altogether and left. Maybe tell me off on his way out. But he stayed. He's here and he's playing.

The last few notes linger in the air, suspended in silence that follows the chaos of music. Ben's fingers gradually slow their pace, pulling the since to a close just as I draw out the last note. A palpable tension lingers between us, the hum of the old radio and the murmur of restaurant customers slowly returning. But I'm still frozen in place, my violin still tucked between my chin and shoulder.

I've never felt so alive playing with anyone before. Sure, Vince and I would have our occasional moments of synchronicity. But something about playing with Ben specifically was unlike anything I've ever experienced.

I feel Ben's gaze shift towards me, but his expression remains guarded. There's a tight pinch in his brow that tells me my company didn't do what I hoped it would. His fingers twitch as if trying to shake off the energy that had been built up during our impromptu duet.

I hesitate, my heart pounding in my chest. My bow feels heavy in my hand now, and for a moment, I wonder if I've done something completely, horribly wrong here. It's clear now that this was no ordinary casual jam session for him, and I've interrupted something personal.

I am going to murder his cousin.

The lights above us slowly dim, drawing people's attention away from the platform and back to the warm meals sitting before them.

I finally lower my violin, keeping a firm grip on it still. I expect him to rise from his bench and walk off like he did at the cafe this morning. But he doesn't leave. He doesn't storm off. He's still here, still with me.

I take a small, cautious step toward him, mindful of his space, unsure of how to even begin this conversation.

"I, um..." I trail off, struggling to find the right words. "That was...something. I'm sorry for jumping in like that, but I'm honestly glad I did. We sounded...incredible."

He doesn't respond or even indicate that he's listening to a word I'm saying. But his eyes are on me, and they are intense and unreadable.

"Look," I try again, "I know you don't know me. And I probably should've introduced myself first...I just," I swallow, my voice quieter now, careful. "I saw you play at The Bean and you were great. You see...I really need a pianist for a wedding gig this Saturday, and I thought, maybe if you're interested...you could, uh, consider it?"

I feel like I'm sweating bullets every time his eyes flicker over me. The fact that he has yet to utter a word only makes him all the more intimidating. I expect him to at least brush me off or tell me no outright. After all, we've just met, and I've practically barged into his world without warning. But Ben's eyes narrow for the briefest of moments, and I catch a glint of something–Irritation? Uncertainty?–before he glances down at his hands.

His fingers fidget with the edge of the wooden piano, his gaze flaunting back to me, then to the rest of the room that is no longer paying us any mind.

I stand there, shifting my weight, waiting. Part of me is hoping Aiden will swoop in at any given moment to salvage the mess this one-sided conversation is becoming. Ben's clearly not used to being approached like this, and I wish Aiden gave me a heads up beforehand. Then again, it's not exactly a normal thing for someone to walk into a place and randomly start playing with a complete stranger.

There's something about his silence that makes me uneasy. Is he going to reject me? Is he just unsure?

I sigh, slowly losing hope that I'm not going to get anywhere like this. "Okay...I'm sorry if I startled you or made you uncomfortable in any way. I just thought we played really well together and you would make a good asset for the gig. But I won't beg if you are unwilling."

My shoulders drop in defeat as I spin around to walk off the short platform. But just as my foot steps down onto the carpet, I hear him. A barely audible sigh escapes his lips. I freeze, my pulse jumping, and I slowly turn back toward him, expecting maybe a few words, but not sure of what to expect exactly.

He doesn't speak, not in the way I had hoped he would. Instead, his hands hover over the keys, pausing as he studies me, his lips pressed into a tight line. But then he gestures slightly toward the piano bench, the subtle motion enough for me to catch.

I blink, taking in his silent invitation–or is it a challenge? I don't know. His gaze stays on me, expectant, but with a hint of reluctance, as if he's not entirely sure he wants to keep going down this path.

It then hits me there. The way he's so expressive with his face and hand gestures. How he hasn't muttered a single word since I first laid eyes on him.

He must be mute.

"Are you...telling me to sit?" I ask cautiously, trying to sound more confident than I feel. Now I make sure to play close attention to every shift of his facial features.

He doesn't respond, and I don't expect him to anymore. But his fingers tap lightly on the empty spot beside him, almost like an impatient rhythm that is unexpectedly welcoming.

I swallow, carefully stepping back up onto the platform to take a seat next to him. Now that I am this close to him, I smell faint notes of something I can't quite pinpoint, but it floods my senses and causes my muscles to untangle from their knots of tension.

He stiffens once I am sat, but he doesn't scoot away when our arms brush against each other. The proximity feels strange. My heart skips a beat, but I try to maintain my composure and ignore the sudden awareness of just how close we are now.

I lower my violin into position, still feeling like I'm tiptoeing around a fragile boundary I don't fully understand, But dammit, I really want to understand him.

He subtly tilts his head between the piano and my instrument, trying to communicate something. He reaches his hand out and tilts my violin up, urging me to play again.

He's testing me.

He must want to make sure our connection earlier wasn't some fluke. And I will do everything it takes to prove that it's as authentic as it can be.

I take a deep breath, letting the silence settle before I begin again, this time being the one in control of the tempo. Unlike him, I don't have an original piece sitting in my pocket for me to use. So, I began playing a cover I've memorized recently.

Once I start the beginning chord of "Young and Beautiful" by Lana Del Rey, I feel his muscles tense beside me, as if he wasn't expecting something as modern as this.

I don't even get through the first verse before his fingers strike the keyes. It's subtle at first–a tentative chord, testing the waters. But he blows me away when he catches onto my style and compliments it with a series of arpeggios.

I can feel his eyes locking on my violin once in a while, but I don't falter despite the tension growing between us. I'm beginning to realize that playing with him is far too intimate for me to concentrate fully.

The sound between us is perfect, just like before. He's caught the rhythm faster than I expected, which further motivates me to make him my partner. I find myself grinning, the thrill of the music surging through me. The connection between us strengthens with every passing moment, the song flowing like it was meant to be.

But just as I start to lose myself in the music, the tempo reaches a crescendo, and he pulls back, his fingers slowing down. The energy between us is still loud and ecstatic, but the song is coming to an end.

Ben's fingers stop altogether, his gaze lifting from the piano to meet mine. His expression shifts to one of realization. This was not a fluke, is what I think. And he sees that.

I watch curiously as he lifts finger up and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He types away for a few seconds before turning the dimly lit screen to face me.

I'll play with you.

"You will?" I ask, my lips curving up into a relieved smile.

He simply gives a small, almost imperceptible nod.

I can't help but sigh contentedly. "Thank you..." I whisper, the words tumbling out with a sense of gratitude I hadn't expected to feel so strongly. "Seriously...Thank you so much."

I rise from the bench and take my violin with me. I am about to head out the door but then remember I have no way of contacting him.

"Oh, hey–"

When I turn around, he's already on his feet with his phone outstretched to me. I see the keypad of numbers waiting on the screen.

I can't help but chuckle as I take his phone and punch in my number. When I insert my name into the contact, I realize I never verbally told him.

"I'm Y/N." I smile, stretching my hand out for him to shake.

He takes it casually and nods in acknowledgment. He seems to contemplate how to communicate his own name but I raise a hand, "Don't worry. I know what it is, thanks to your cousin back there."

I gesture a thumb over my shoulder to the general area Aiden's been sitting at the entire time. Ben's lips crack into a smile that only lasts a few beats, but it's enough to ignite a warmness in me that I fail to ignore.

I hand his phone back and say, "I will text you all the details for Saturday. We can set up practice sessions so we get more comfortable with each other. Feel free to reach out to me whenever you want."

He nods, hanging onto every word I say. It's odd, really. He's so attentive and I can tell he's fully listening just by his expressions. As much as I wish he'd speak, something about his lack of doing so gives me a sense of peace.

"See you later, Ben." I wave and head toward the restaurant's front doors.