Amelia’s fingers trembled over the ivory keys, the familiar weight a cold comfort. The majestic beast of polished wood and gleaming brass stood defiant in the cavernous practice room, swallowing her whole. Thunderous rain raged in the background, blurring the stunning views of the Strand and mercifully drowning each of her forced, lifeless notes.

It had been a long day, the sunny, spring afternoon giving way to dark, twisting clouds in the build-up to the storm, and within moments, the cobbled streets had begun to turn into a warren of slick stones. She had found refuge behind the grand piano, but the rhythm of the rain and the practiced movements of her fingers on the keyboard failed to bring her the peace she had sought in vain for weeks.

“I still recall the day I first heard you play that song.”

Her fingers froze at the sound of the low, rich baritone, a stiffness involuntary entering her posture. Her eyes snapped open as quiet, measured footsteps drew closer. The weight of a suited male figure occupied the space beside her on the bench, long, wiry fingers lacing on the ornate soundboard. They were the same as she remembered from seven years ago, the absence of the ring the only difference.

“I used to pride myself on being unbiased.” The words were spoken slowly in the smoothest, stateliest English accent. “Until that afternoon in the music room, when I heard you delivering the most complex rendition of Liszt’s hardest etude. Unlike any other sixteen-year-old pianist I’d ever met.”

Lifting her eyes, Amelia risked a glance at the man next to her. His sharp features, untouched by age, were the same as ever— the smooth, chiselled face, the aquiline nose, and the large, intense eyes in the deepest shade of earth, mimicking precious stones of onyx in the soft light of the room. She had never seen such dark eyes with so much light in them, at once wise and ungodly, commanding respect and promising consequences if defied.

Music maestro Daniel McGraw was widely called the present-day Mozart, with the soul of a poet and the eyes of an omniscient. It was an exaggeration by no means.

“Why are you here?” she asked quietly, her gaze lowering again.

“I could ask you the same,” he rejoindered. “It’s half-past seven. What are you still doing here?”

“I’m only waiting for the rain to recede.”

“Are you? Or only hiding?”

Amelia’s hands, numb and stiff, retracted from the keys and returned to her lap. Her face, suddenly flushed, remained low to avert his probing stare.

“I was notified by Mr Martin that you’re planning to drop out,” he continued. “Is it true?”

She filled her chest with air. “Mr Martin wouldn’t lie, would he?”

A gruff laugh spilled from him. “Tell me you aren’t serious? This is the oldest conservatoire in the world with a three percent acceptance rate. No one lucky and merited enough to get a chance will want to drop out.”

His breath echoed in the brief silence, his fingers unclasping. “You are one of the most prodigious young pianists in the world. Do you have any idea how shocked everyone is?”

“I’m sorry.” Amelia closed her eyes. “I didn’t intend to shock anyone.”

She felt the weight of his gaze on her face, making her body tingle with awareness. “I should go.” She reached for her coat and her bag on the floor, then rose to her feet and rounded the bench. Firm fingers wrapped around her wrist, and Amelia shrank on the spot, suddenly reminded of the strength in those sinewy hands.

“Mel…” His voice softened, turned empathetic. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t call me that.” Her skin prickled with unwelcome memories. “Please… I should go.”

“The principal asked me to talk to you.” Daniel let go of her hand and rose from the bench. Next to his strong, square build of six feet and three inches, Amelia was half the size, small, slender, and exquisitely proportionate with long, burnt copper hair that added to her allure. “I watched your technically accurate but hollow and lacklustre recital this morning. You’re the only student in the past ten years to get a full scholarship. This is highly unexpected and uncharacteristic of you.”

“How does it concern you if I drop out?”

“Because I’m the head of piano here, Ms Cavenham.” He crossed his arms. “Of course it concerns me if a student intends to quit three months before graduation.”

He sighed. “You know I’m not the sentimental sort. I won’t subject you to tedious sermons. I simply want to know what is wrong.”

She scoffed. “You heard it when you entered the room.”

He frowned. Since the time he was her high school director of music, Daniel had known Amelia as a smart, spunky girl without any trace of fear or reluctance. She was a brilliant student and performer, talented and audacious with a mind of her own. A singular, unforgettable sort of person whose company had always brought him much delight.

The news that their brightest student intended to abandon her academic pursuit mere months ahead of the finals was quite a blow. Daniel had known her long enough to realise the disquiet in her gleaming, emerald eyes and the loss of the radiant vitality of her face had something to do with it.

“A little creative block and you’re giving up? he asked. “You were never that timid.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She slipped on her coat, and as the sleeve of her dress momentarily rode up, Daniel noticed a nasty bruise on her arm, dark and purple and somewhat raw. “I should go before the rain becomes worse.”

“How do you plan to go?”

“I usually take the bus.”

“The Aldwych stop? You cannot make it there without getting soaked to your skin.”

She nodded, taking a fortifying breath. “It’s alright. I have an umbrella.”

“Let me drop you home,” he offered.

“I cannot, Dr McGraw—”

“Dan.” He amended with quiet emphasis. “And I’m only giving you a ride home when it’s rough out.” Tilting his head to the side, he arched an eyebrow. “What are you afraid of? A possessive boyfriend who wouldn’t like to see you with another man?”

A mild panic flashed in her eyes. Strange, he thought. The calm, collected Amelia had never exuded even a brief lapse in confidence. Yet everything he had seen of her over the two months that he had been the new head of the piano department seemed to tell a different story.

A crack of thunder ripped through the room. Amelia jumped, folding her arms around herself.

“It’s not going to be easy getting a bus in this weather,” he pointed out. “Isn’t it more convenient if I drop you home? Come along. I’m parked right outside.”

He turned around and proceeded towards the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw her following him out of the room.

#

The streets were dark and rain-swept. Buses were few and far between, the pavements were washed out, and the slow traffic drove most home-bound people to the Underground. Daniel glanced at the young woman in the passenger seat and found her staring at the wipers, her fingers working of their own accord on the edge of the seat, as though tapping invisible keys in perfect cadence. It was a tic he had noticed the first time he met her, just as he had noticed her small hands and beautiful fingers, which some would call unsuitable for playing the piano. The gutsy girl that she was, it had taken her little time to rise above the doubts and prove her detractors wrong.

In his illustrious career of over three decades, Daniel had mentored several exceptional young musicians, who had later gone on to make waves around the world. But the impression Amelia had left on him was indelible. From the youngest child artiste to debut at the Royal Albert Hall to the finest student at the most elite private school in London to the first woman brand ambassador of Steinway and Sons, she had made every glory her own. A shining star in a profession so often dominated by male performers.

“Where am I going?” he finally spoke. Amelia abruptly withdrew her fingers and blinked, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

“Poets Corner.” She raised a hand to wipe the condensation from the window. “It’s still a few minutes away.”

“You live in Brixton now?”

“I have since I started at the conservatoire.”

“And what’s making you quit?” he asked.

“My reasons are my own.”

“The conservatoire wants to help you. You’re not a whimsical person. Is it that hard to tell me what’s driven you to this foolish decision?”

“That will require you to break the boundaries you set between us.” She stared at the rain-soaked traffic through the foggy window, her head resting against the back of the seat. “You wouldn’t want to do that.”

An unexpected little twinge constricted his chest. “You do understand that dropping out will be such a waste of three long years, right?”

She did not answer. Daniel stopped at a red light, streams of vehicles around them.

“We can’t force you to open up,” he sighed. “But you know you can confide in us and tell the truth.”

“You cannot do anything,” she said firmly.

“So there is something wrong?”

The momentary flicker of nervousness on her face was more answer than he needed. His noisy exhale echoed in the confined space.

“If this was then,” he prodded. “If you were still sixteen and spending time with me and treating me like a friend, would you have told me?”

“This isn’t then,” she retorted. “Can I just go home, please?”

“What happened to your arm?”

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I fell in the bathroom.”

“That doesn’t look like a bruise from a fall.” He studied her face. “You look visibly troubled. Is there a problem that you’re trying to hide by dropping out?”

When she offered no response, Daniel shook his head. “I thought you trusted me?” His query evinced hesitance. “I know it’s been a long time, but–”

“You’re not my friend,” she snapped, clutching her bag with both hands. “You’re simply my senior and mentor, and I don’t discuss my life with colleagues.”

“I’m only trying to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He paused abruptly, his hands involuntarily tightening on the steering wheel. “Because I care about you. Always have. You know that.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” she muttered, watching familiar territory coming up. “That’s it. You can drop me here.”

Daniel halted, watching the noisy, crowded neighbourhood, dotted with restaurants and shops. She reached for the door, pausing to take a look at him. “Thank you,” she murmured, sliding her bag across her shoulder and stepping out into the rain. The flat she had been living in for the last three years was located above a small, half-price bookshop at a busy intersection. It was a small space that had grown on her, and although the noise was not ideal for her musical endeavours, her keen ear for sound had allowed her to make modifications for better acoustics. She entered the living room, dropped her coat and slipped off her shoes.

“Who is he?”

She froze at the low, sullen voice behind her. It was a familiar voice, one that she had known for close to a year. One that she did not want to hear any longer. Her pulse quickened, her hands curling around the skirt of her dress.

“Jason,” she breathed, without turning around. “What are you doing here?”