FOUR

What is fear if not a construct of the mind?

What is despair if not the construct of humanity?

What is hope if not the one thing we yearn for?

What is warmth if not something that is felt?

What is bliss if not something we want to embrace?

When she encased both my hands with hers… When she even went as far as to reaffirm she was intending to, making the grip on my hands stronger… What did I feel?

My body shuddered in her grip… Why did she clasp my hands like that? Like I was glass? Was she scared that I’d hurt her like the shards I perceive myself to be? Was she afraid I’d topple down on her and break her, turning her into what I was— a mess of a human?

Or did she sense my fragility, my volatility, my grief, my fear?

Did she sense how vulnerable I was? Did her pained eyes reflect the defenselessness I had like mirrors? Did it feel past my breaking facade? Did it realise how patched up I was? How broken I was underneath? How desolate my thoughts were?

Did it fear me?

Did it hate me?

Did she loathe me?

But no… She pulled me closer with her perfectly cold hands, bringing me into a light embrace. I could feel how fragile she too was, how smaller she was in comparison to me, how frail she seemed, her slender hands wrapping around my torso, pulling me closer. Why was she doing this? Why wasn’t she repulsed? Why was she doing this to me? Why did she torment me like this?

Why did I not want this to end?

What is wrong with me?

Why was I so attached to this feeling? Did my past self learn nothing from what happened? Did I not learn that getting attached would only hurt me?

But her eyes—the look in her eyes—radiated genuinely. It represented purity. It was like a column of white light was encasing me. It felt warm and safe, just like her violin. It drew me to her.

Maybe it was her purity all along, that innocence that I lacked…

But then…there was the darkness in her too. But unlike mine, her purity seemed stronger. Her love for the violin; her world, seemed stronger than anything else. It thwarted the negativity with ease… And yet…

Ravi... I am here, not because of my dream but because you're you.

How did she know exactly what I wanted to hear? Am I that predictable? Am I that vulnerable? I couldn’t help but stare at my hands. My eyes widened and my mouth was agape. I couldn’t believe I just did that… I couldn’t believe she just did that. I was spiralling, spiralling into thought. What did she want from me? Why was she doing this? Why put herself through the trouble? Why even come into contact with a guy like me? Why did she say those words? Why were her eyes so sincere?

Telling me to think about someone that makes me feel good. A kind of anchor point if I may… She was a victim of stage fear too? What was her anchor point? Who was her anchor point? Dozens of questions overwhelmed me but they could all be summarised into an unconscious yet sincere response.

“Something that makes me feel good…huh..” he said, listlessly, “I don’t… I don’t know… At this moment… I think this moment…you are that person…”

I couldn’t help but hold back a gasp. My face reddened. My eyes darted to her who stood there equally red-faced and wide-eyed. This was honest. She told me to think about the current moment. I did. But the voice in my head…it was cruel.

She hates you now.

She thinks you’re a creep.

Statement after statement rushed into my head, tormenting my mind in a different, negative way. The voice in my head was just like anyone else, pretending to support me but only dragging me down towards that abyss again. The abyss where lay my darkest thoughts—a forest of insecurity and paranoia, paved by glass shards that reflected my struggles and worst moments, etching themselves into my mind again.

“That works…” I heard her say, still shyly fiddling with a strand of her wavy hair. Besides… I fel that way about you too.. Having a friend like you…”

Wait… Did I hear that right?

Friend

We were friends…. Yes! We were friends… Of course, we were. That’s why… A genuine one. A real one. She wasn’t a friend just by name alone. Her careful yet gentle actions, her direct thoughts and straightforwardness, her pure feelings. She was what I was looking for. Deep inside I wanted to tell her how much I didn’t even deserve her. But knowing her, she’d get mad at me for sure.

As we both got up, holding each others’ hands tightly. We went back into the room to begin our first performance ever.

—-

The Grand Piano. An assortment of black and white keys, each creating a certain tone and once played well, could potentially move the hearts of millions. Every time I sat in front of it, I felt powerful… I felt strong. I felt like I could do anything as long as I could play. It was a part of me and I was one with it. This was and still is how I feel.

Both hands gently set at the respective Cs— The left in low C and the right in middle C. I exhaled, halting my thoughts, shoving past my warped mind, pausing the wave of emotions that came with the incident just moments prior. My eyes fell on him, my mentor, watching us intently as I played the C major and D major chord progressions to test myself and as she who stood in front of me— not in a way that could block my view of Mr. Mathews— re-tuning her violin.

My eyes fell on her, those small, slender arms that wrapped around me moments ago, their fingers now were host to her four-stringed violin. The instrument that belonged to her alone. The instrument that created the moment which belonged to us, the moment that brought us to this moment. I could see the strength in her poise, the confidence. And yet, there was nervousness, anxiety and even fear. Her hands held the instrument so confidently that it looked forced, so stiff. And when our eyes met for a moment, I felt the warmth from her smile but the fear in her eyes overpowered that warmth. My lips curled into a gentle, reassuring smile as I nodded.

Canon in D.

The symphonic union between strings and keys, exudes the feeling of calm, making the listener want to move with the beat like a tide washing away the sand; the sand following the current into nowhere. My eyes were always forward, looking at her as she played, as she compelled the listener, our teacher, slowly drawing him in. My job was supporting her, providing the base as an accompanist, making sure the foundation didn’t collapse so the skyscraper above it could stand tall. My job was enhancing her captivating playing

Look at me... Watch me… Sway with my… Let it flow freely… Let this be engraved into you…

In her hands, the violin was akin to witchcraft and hypnotism, making us plead and beg for more but somehow leaving us satisfied with what we have. In essence, it can teach us that we won’t always get what we want and instead should see the good in all we have while working to earn what we want.

Me? I fade into the background, of course, I am a foundation. My playing shouldn’t stand out. It shouldn’t enthrall. It should only support. It should-

Join me…

That voice. It was that echoing voice again— her wish, her need, her desire. She didn’t want me to just support her. She wanted me to shine like her…shine with her. Our eyes met again, finding solace in the warm gaze and responding with my own. A rush of confidence overcame me. My hands moved with fervour, with passion, with energy, with strength. That’s right.. I wanted to stand out too… I wanted to be great too… That was my conviction. That was our promise; to stand together. It doesn’t leave room for overshadowing. If one shins, the other does too.

And then, the performance concludes.

A breath escapes my mouth.

That of relief.

And bliss.

Our eyes met for the last time.

The eyes of ours that breathed life into the other.