Arthur was just four years old when his parents left him at an orphanage. No one ever explained why. The sisters and fathers there were kind—they fed him, clothed him, and sent him to school. But something inside Arthur had quietly shattered. He became like a doll, moving through life without warmth or color. He studied hard, but never laughed, never played, never let anyone close. After finishing school, Arthur moved to London for college. It was a massive place, buzzing with students, clubs, and life. He rented a small room and the orphanage helped with his expenses. The college offered more than just academics. Students lounged on green fields, joined clubs, and participated in seminars every week. These seminars, unknowingly, began to draw Arthur out of his shell. Over time, Arthur started talking more. He joined the football club. He even laughed—softly, hesitantly at first, but it grew. Life, it seemed, had colors after all. Then came a moment that would change everything. On One quiet morning, Arthur wandered into the music building by mistake. The room was empty, but the grand piano stood tall, gleaming under soft light. Something stirred within him. But when he returned later to try the piano, someone was already there. A girl with long black hair, in an oversized t-shirt and cargo pants, was playing a beautiful melody. She was startled when he entered. "Cathanina," she whispered before fleeing, embarrassed that she hadn't brushed her teeth. Arthur couldn't forget the sound of the piano or her name. Cathanina reappeared during the college's cultural events. She played the violin and piano, and Arthur was captivated. Her music stirred something deep inside him. He tried to talk to her, to learn from her, but she kept avoiding him. She would hide in her room, slip away into the crowd, or disappear behind a door. Eventually, Arthur stopped trying. He found someone else—Lucia, a kind junior—who offered to teach him the piano. They began meeting in the early mornings to practice. Unbeknownst to him, Cathanina overheard Lucia talking about it. Regret filled her heart. The next morning, Arthur walked into the music room to find Cathanina waiting.
"I'm sorry," she said, quietly.
And she began to teach him.
Each morning, they played together. He learned to read music, to play melodies, to feel. They practiced, talked, and shared small things. They went shopping. They laughed. Arthur got a part-time job at a café to earn money and save for a piano of his own. After six months, he bought one—and they played together even more. Slowly, Arthur's world transformed. But he kept one truth to himself: he was an orphan. Even Cathanina didn't know. During the semester break, she went home, and Arthur stayed back. He missed her more than he had expected. They spoke every night, and somewhere between those quiet calls and gentle words, Arthur fell in love. Cathanina came from a wealthy family—her father a director, her mother a singer—but she was humble, kind, radiant when she played. He never told her how he felt, not yet. Five years passed. At the end of college, Arthur received a job offer in Germany. On the day he left London, he finally found the courage.
"Will you be my wife?" he asked.
Cathanina blushed. "Y-yes," she replied, smiling shyly.
But love doesn't always bring peace. When she told her parents, they were furious. They didn't want her to marry an orphan. "He has no family," her father said. "From now on, she's no daughter of mine." Heartbroken, Cathanina tried to reason with them, cried alone for nights, but they wouldn't listen. She saved up quietly and flew to Germany. Arthur didn't know the truth—he thought she came for work. They found joy in small moments, wandering cafés, hunting for jobs. When she finally told him everything, Arthur was devastated. He returned with her to London, hoping to change her parents' minds. They refused to even look at him. So they left. In Germany, they built a new life. Both found work, bought a house, and slowly, happiness returned. Arthur sent half his salary to the orphanage that had raised him. Every year, he visited the place that once felt like home. And then joy unlike any other. Cathanina was pregnant. Arthur was overjoyed. He worked morning shifts, helped her through every symptom and ache. They took evening walks in the park and spoke of the future. But Cathanina still cried for her father. One day, Arthur sent him a message about the pregnancy. By the fourth month, her family came to visit. Her father, tearful and trembling, hugged her at last. Their hearts healed. But fate, cruel and sudden, had one last turn.
On August 28, Arthur forgot a file and left for work in a rush. Cathanina, near her due date, booked a cab to deliver it to him. The truck came out of nowhere. The cab flipped. At the hospital, Arthur received the call that shattered his soul. He ran, breathless and broken. Cathanina was gone. But their daughter lived. They handed her to Arthur, and he wept as he held her—so small, so precious. He named her Fiara. She grew up with eyes like her mother's and a spirit like her father's. Arthur raised her with love and patience. He dropped her at school, helped with homework, and took her every year to visit her mother's grave. One day, she asked for a piano on her birthday. Arthur bought it. On his birthday, she played him a tune. The room filled with notes—and memories. Arthur closed his eyes and saw Cathanina again.
Years passed.
At Fiara's graduation, Arthur stood proudly as she threw her cap into the air.
"We did it, Cat," he whispered, smiling through tears.
THE END