Lunch in the cafeteria was loud and chaotic, a jarring contrast to the quiet focus Leti preferred. She ate her salad with careful, deliberate movements, her eyes scanning the pages of the history textbook. The smiles of her peers, their loud laughter echoing through the room, seemed shallow and meaningless. She was above it all, above their simple games and small talk. But as she turned a page, her mind drifted back to the boy, the one from the music academy. The memory of his correction, that tiny, precise detail, still stung a little, but the earnestness in his voice had been something new. He didn't seem to be trying to put her down, just… helping. It was a foreign concept, a critique without malice. She hated it because it confused her.
The next time they saw each other was after school, back at Loraine Music Academy. Leti was sitting at a piano, a sheet of complex music laid out before her. She was practicing a new piece, a Chopin nocturne, her fingers flying across the keys with an effortless grace that belied her age. The music filled the practice room, a mournful, beautiful melody that held both a deep sadness and a determined strength. She was so engrossed that she didn't notice the boy until he was standing beside her. "Chopin," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, as if he didn't want to break the spell of the music. "One of my favorites." Leti flinched, her hands stopping abruptly. She turned to glare at him, her defenses immediately up. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice cold. "Nothing," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Just listening. You play beautifully." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "Though... in measure thirty-two, you're rushing the tempo just a little. It's a bit too fast for the andante marking." The familiar flash of annoyance and frustration surged through her. He was doing it again, pointing out her mistakes. "It's supposed to be like that," she lied, her face flushing. "It gives it more emotion." He just smiled, a gentle, understanding smile that made her even more irritated. "The emotion is in the control," he said quietly. "Not the speed." He sat down at the piano next to hers, a simple, unadorned instrument, and began to play the same passage. But his version was different. It was slower, more deliberate, and the notes seemed to hang in the air, each one a perfectly formed teardrop of sound. He played the rest of the piece, and as he did, Leti found herself forgetting her anger and just listening. His playing was less about showing off and more about revealing the soul of the music. It wasn't flashy or boastful like hers; it was honest. When he finished, the silence in the room was profound. Leti felt a strange twist in her stomach. She was used to being the best, to being the one everyone admired. But hearing him play, so perfectly, so… genuinely, made her feel something she wasn't accustomed to: doubt.