The pianist and his muse.

When the album named ''Too late" released, like any other fan, I too was excited to hear it. After all, there was something about the music he played. It was special because it just felt like home. And that was enough in a way.  When I played the new album for
the first time, it all came rushing back. And before I knew it, I was crying. The story we, the audience, were a part of had ended. The story we witnessed and was excited for a few days had ended. The story we were curious about had finally ended. And it broke my heart. The curiosity that was burning in our minds after we left the concert only lasted a few days as there was no further news about it. And 6 months later, when the album released, the flame was rekindled but only to be stomped upon by the song's last line ' But by then, it was a little too late.'

I had planned this for months. In fact, I was saving up for it. To sit in the front row to see him up close, to hear his fingers playing with the white and black keys on the piano, to hear him make music. It would be a dream come true. And it was. When he first started playing, his eyes were closed and you could see him feeling the music. I wanted to experience it too so I closed my eyes. And it was beautiful. For once, the images in my head were not mine. It was his. He was creating his astonishing world in our minds with the touch of his fingers. But suddenly and slowly, the melodies started to change. It was confused as to what to express. And the images in my mind vanished, the whole world shook and destroyed away. I opened my eyes with a heavy heart and noticed that he too had his eyes open. But it was filled with love.

He was staring at someone in the room. No, staring feels wrong to express it. Let's go with admiring. Every emotion that passed through his eyes reached us through his notes. It was soft and strong, at the same time. When people finally started recognising this, they started searching for the lady. And we did find her. She too was admiring, no looking at him. Anyone could realise that it was gonna be a tragedy. She held her lover's hand more deeply as his notes fell and rose again and again, again and again. But selfish as we are, we didn't want to reminisce so we pretended as if we saw nothing. His music was too precious to be traded for a tragic love story.

The music ended. Our hearts brimming with memories and happiness. And we left, leaving him with too many thoughts to fathom. After all, what could we have done? Aren't we all helpless in love?

It took him 6 months. How long will it take you?

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