She would sneak out in the middle of the night and listen to him play. She knew he hated when people listened, but she couldn’t stop herself. When the first note would float up, she would throw away her blankets and slip out her door and take to the shadows. Literally. She never stepped into the light, often kneeling in complete stillness. She would watch him from the balcony or the stairs, depending on the time of night.

He had never noticed her, so absorbed in his playing. Tonight, he was playing something she’d never heard before…something original? She rested her head against the wood beam, closed her eyes and just listened. The notes evoked something in her, a desire to do something, to sing, to speak, to dance, but she just knelt. She knew what he’d do if he caught her.

She wasn’t satisfied just listening and so she dared to peek her face around and look at him. He was looking down, of course, his face a mix of concentration and that distant look artists always got. She couldn’t see his fingers, but she wished she could. He looked so at peace and so natural there that she wondered if he could really be the same person she spent her days with. He was so beautiful here and now and every night, that it banished all of her confusion as to how she could possibly feel this way.

The song faded away, but he didn’t wait very long before beginning to play again. Selfish though it was, she liked to imagine the songs were for her. Those fantasies never lasted long.

She closed her eyes again, just barely daring to hum along, as quiet as was physically possible. In her mind, beauty reigned, faces and places and flowers flowing through her drowsy mind. She could see him too, standing at the edge of every image and looking away.

When she opened her eyes again, hours had passed and she was in her bed again, but outside her door, the piano played on.