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[vivalabunbun]

Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret. 

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error. 

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy. 

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head. 

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes. 

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.  

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better. 

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench. 

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door. 

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward. 

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes. 

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.” 

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?” 

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests. 

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing. 

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined. 

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance. 

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room. 

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.    

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above  accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall. 

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past. 

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally. 

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer. 

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said. 

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago. 

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room. 

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument. 

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes. 

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’. 

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame. 

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice. 

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off. 

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents. 

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water. 

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard. 

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore. 

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays. 

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget. 

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes. 

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month. 

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display. 

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now. 

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read. 

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers. 

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening. 

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison. 

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room. 

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied. 

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you. 

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really. 

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense. 

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak. 

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again. 

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble? 

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open. 

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped. 

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue. 

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence. 

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue. 

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it. 

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun. 

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him. 

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away. 

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair. 

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next. 

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature. 

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time. 

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him. 

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name. 

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him. 

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista. 

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood. 

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts. 

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb. 

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys. 

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight. 

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you. 

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air. 

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple. 

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson. 

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. 

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you. 

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now. 

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated. 

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this. 

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. 

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand. 

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense. 

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation. 

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. 

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week. 

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy. 

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all. 

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead. 

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised. 

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences. 

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on. 

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text. 

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies. 

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break. 

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern. 

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance. 

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.  

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’. 

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness. 

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before. 

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness. 

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet. 

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano. 

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery. 

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward. 

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration. 

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??” 

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.” 

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face. 

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling. 

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer. 

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano. 

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano. 

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes. 

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”  

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?” 

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture. 

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face. 

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon. 

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths. 

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer. 

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response. 

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind. 

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock. 

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination. 

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume. 

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble. 

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read. 

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity. 

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight. 

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him. 

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library. 

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response. 

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision. 

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks. 

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch. 

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.” 

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply. 

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter? 

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity. 

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass. 

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression. 

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?” 

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

 Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner. 

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs. 

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts. 

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended. 

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him. 

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle. 

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down. 

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip. 

 His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine. 

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing. 

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you. 

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him. 

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes? 

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him. 

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer. 

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.”  Came his flat reply.  

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted. 

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in. 

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk. 

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet. 

“Is that a piece by Debussy?” 

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?” 

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight. 

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them. 

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back. 

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind. 

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system. 

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them. 

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way. 

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything. 

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house. 

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face. 

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.” 

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face. 

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. 

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion. 

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you. 

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.” 

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice. 

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor. 

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch. 

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you? 

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight. 

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself. 

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries. 

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely? 

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started. 

Another miscalculation on his part. 

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note: 

“Don’t Bother Me”. 

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back? 

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side. 

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings. 

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.  

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers. 

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you. 

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet. 

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue. 

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself. 

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!” 

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom. 

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”  

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind. 

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well. 

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.” 

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all. 

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle. 

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette. 

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora. 

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie. 

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand. 

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he. 

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up. 

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times? 

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex. 

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.” 

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs. 

“I have a reason to seek you.” 

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle. 

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply. 

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity. 

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it. 

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion. 

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face. 

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more. 

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return. 

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges. 

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend. 

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed. 

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized. 

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off. 

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display. 

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet. 

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor. 

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.” 

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed. 

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks. 

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth. 

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch. 

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it. 

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face. 

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.  

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym. 

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is. 

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow. 

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.  

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities. 

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision. 

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment. 

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is. 

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts. 

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands. 

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed. 

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame. 

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts. 

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time. 

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents. 

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together. 

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her. 

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you. 

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller. 

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan. 

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff. 

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his. 

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand. 

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued. 

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look. 

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face. 

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had. 

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry. 

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now. 

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her. 

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face. 

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo. 

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls. 

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things. 

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again. 

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing. 

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him. 

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses. 

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts. 

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis. 

Acceptance, the last stage of grief. 

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it. 

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind. 

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths. 

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you. 

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own. 

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away? 

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211. 

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival. 

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air. 

“Number 211.” 

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano. 

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss. 

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands. 

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical. 

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight. 

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round. 

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.” 

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams. 

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void. 

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands? 

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain. 

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. 

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain. 

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards. 

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” 

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’. 

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan. 

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes. 

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down. 

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly. 

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him. 

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move. 

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message. 

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee. 

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt. 

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head. 

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them. 

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn. 

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders. 

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request. 

“Ah! Ah! AH!” 

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed. 

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm. 

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. 

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face. 

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions. 

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle. 

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

 In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member. 

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within. 

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet. 

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead. 

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again. 

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings. 

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything. 

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish. 

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air. 

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow. 

It was a grand piano. 

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well. 

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step. 

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand. 

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid. 

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted. 

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano. 

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you. 

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests. 

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook? 

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by. 

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor. 

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house. 

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day. 

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves. 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart. 

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears. 

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry. 

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.” 

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky. 

“… Of course.” You let go of him. 

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again. 

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago. 

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change. 

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat. 

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly. 

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile. 

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it. 

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature. 

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

[solreino]

Swan Song

Chapter 1: Taking Flight

Summary: In preparation for your debut as Odette in Swan Lake, you encounter a few bumps in the road. Little do you know this is just the start.

Pairings: TF 141 x Reader

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: Eating Disorders, Toxic Beauty Standards, Creepy/Unwanted Behaviour, Period-Typical Attitudes (1910's), Innacurate Translations.

A/N: I'm not well informed about ballet, I have never danced it before, so I apologize for any inaccuracy regarding terminology. Also, the story is set mainly in Russia, so the reader is presumed to be of Russian origin.

MASTERLIST Next➔

[November 11th 1911, The Bolshoi Ballet Academy, Russia]

"1 and 2 and 3 and 4!”

Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as Mr. Lenkov begins to play Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a: I. Scene "Swan Theme" for what feels like the sixth time this hour. His nimble fingers dance across the ivory keys once again as the composition presumes its macabre melody.  

To say the last few weeks have been stressful would be a dire understatement. Since taking up the role of Odette in Autumn, you’ve yet to recall the last time you’d had the pleasure of succumbing to the sanctity of slumber, nor rest altogether for that matter. From dawn to dusk, you’ve found the studio becoming a second home to you; like an ever-so gracious host with a tendency for passive-aggressive hospitality, who coaxes you from the front door in promise of warm tea and a place to rest your head, insisting you stay "just one more hour". You know better, well at least you think you do, because beyond the studio door you know there’ll be no rest awaiting you, only relentless recital. Still, you don’t look back as you accept its welcoming embrace. Because- 

Anything but perfection would not suffice. You see, back-breaking discipline; impeccable precision; artistic competence; meticulous dedication, it’s nothing new to ballet and in turn, it’s nothing new to you, either. To be a ballerina means to surrender yourself to the artistry, and let your body become its mindless muse.

The Ballet industry is an anomaly compared to other artistic sectors. Unlike others, it subverges from the ideals of ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder’. Conformity is key. There are strict standards to be met and an unquestionable quota to be completed. Anything but, will not do. It disregards the need to sugarcoat its shallow requirements; skinnier, sharper, prettier, thinner; if it fulfills the requirements, it will suffice. 

Image is everything. It’s a shallow, superficial sentiment that directors set upon budding ballerinas like hounds to hares. From day one, they plant it into the impressionable minds of aspiring dancers. Uncontrollably, self-doubt sprouts like a stubborn weed. Each off-hand comment or direct dig, whether it be about a girl’s weight of en pointe form, encourages the festering parasite to root itself deeper into her mind. Then she grows older - it’s too late - and the parasitic thought has poisoned her once innocent outlook on life and has rotted it right to its roots. For the rest of her tragic life, the girl will only know the number on the scales, the image in the mirror, and the misery in her mind. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. You’ve seen it happen to you, because-  

Ballet has ensnared you - mind, body, and soul. Over the years, you’ve felt its callous claws dig deeper and deeper into your flesh, leaving scars so severe - both physically and mentally - sometimes the pretty pink ribbons you adorn your feet with prove futile in the bid to cover them. Prodding and poking and probing; fingers jabbing mercilessly into your sides, accompanying a doubly ruthless "you'll need to lose this extra weight if you want a spot on my stage". For a sport so vain, you ought to think it would go easy on its victims. A session of self-reflection proves otherwise.

You learn to bear and grin through it all. You don’t have much of a choice anyways. After all, many before you have suffered the same, and those who come after you will too. Because after many years of being a ballerina-

You learn to see beauty in the pain. 

The blood you bleed makes the red roses you receive at curtain call worthwhile; the sadistically sweat-inducing masterclasses make the shining smiles and standing ovations from awestruck audiences worthwhile; the tears make the champagne chutes you get to drink at the expense of your company worthwhile. You chase these highs like you do with stardom.  

All you've ever dreamed of since a little girl was to be a ballerina. Perhaps, it was the beautiful dresses a child of your class could only dream of back then, or how pretty the woman on the front page of your father’s newspaper looked posing on the tip of her toes. You don’t know for certain what exactly it was that enthralled you with it all. Sometimes, you wish you had never boarded that train to Moscow, never bothered with all that came with being a ballerina. It’s a selfish and self-deprecating thought, for you know if you were to stay on that homestead, there was an imminent chance you would have succumbed to the troubles of poverty you had faced back home. Admittedly, there are times you miss your life before coming to the city. None can be done about that, however.

Now, you have to push your body to its limits and beyond. Daily, you trespass boundaries you had once believed your body did not possess the ability to, reciting the same sequences endlessly, over and over again, until you physically can’t pursue your practice further that day. Even then, you find yourself persevering through the pain and fatigue; limbs heavy like lead; a mind strong like steel. If you knew your efforts were futile in the bid to rid yourself of any flaws in your dance, you would be wrong because-    

Ultimately, you knew no matter how much effort you exerted, the Dance Principal; Ballet Mistress; the reputable Madame Orlova would not miss a single thing.

For decades, word has circled Moscow of the cold-hearted, quick-witted, sharp-tongued old woman who ran the prestigious academy with an iron fist. It was just your luck that she had taken you under her wing as one of her pupils. You dare say she had taken a liking to you, though, she did have a tough way of showing her fondness onto others. 

Never a day was there without some sort of mistake to be mended by her recognition. At times you think God had cursed her to be forever unfulfilled in her outlook of life. The others in the Troupe seem to think so too. 

You dread to think of how much Mr Lenkov’s fingers must be hurting from playing the same melody over and over again for this past hour. It wouldn’t surprise you if the composition begins to haunt your dreams like a creaky, broken music box. You’ve never had the pleasure of owning one, though you had seen one in the window of a repair shop one time and-

And, as the Ballet Mistress shouts at Mr Lenkov to cease his playing, you know she has once more found a flaw in your dancing. 

The symphony stops abruptly with a garble of incoherent notes before it can reach its crescendo. Inwardly, you sigh. 

"No, no, no!" She scolds.

Her boney fingers rub feverishly against her temple in frustration. Rising slowly from her chair before you, her walking cane thumps anticipating against the studio’s oakwood floor as she ambles towards you. Wrinkled eyes bore into you; you struggle to withstand the urge not to writhe under the intensity of her stare.

"Your arms,” She begins slowly, her gaze raking over you in scrutiny, “They are stiff.” 

“From the shoulder to the fingertips,” She gestures with her hand down the length of your arm as she speaks. “It must flow, like the wing of a swan.”

She uses the moment of silence as you take on the command to survey your form, prodding and poking your stance to adjust it to her liking. 

“Do not forget this.” She finishes. 

"Yes, Madame Orlova," You nod in acknowledgment, wincing slightly each time her finger jabs into your shoulder blades and readjust your position to better suit her expectations. 

She huffs a breath in what you can only presume is somewhat satisfaction, signaling for Mr Lenovo to resume playing.

“Again!”

The song resumes its somber sound, and you take heed to the Ballet Mistress’ words. Flowing from your shoulder blades to your fingertips, you encapture the essence of the White Swan; melancholy in her mourning of a lover whose heart he had promised to another. She is vulnerable in her virtue, and she shows that in her final flight. Odette longs for the skies, for an escape from the betrayal of who she had held dear, but her wings fail her. In desperation, she flexes and flaps her wings, but alas, she cannot take flight. And so-

You spiral in a presession of slow spins, arms portraying the anguished attempt the Swan Queen takes to take flight for the final time before decelerating into a despairing descent as Odette. The tune tumbles to its end from beneath Mr. Lenkov’s fingers as you complete your practiced plummet to the studio floor, encasing your body with your arms the wings of the white swan, as the grief-stricken creature takes its final breath. 

You raise your head to look at Madame Orlova.

And, for the first time in your decade-long enrollment at the Bolshoi Ballet School, you think you see the infamously stone-faced stone-hearted ballet mistress smile. 

It's a cold evening in Moscow tonight. The winter winds thrash ferociously at the loose and unraveling threads of your scarf. Whilst it does little to protect you from the frigid frost lingering in the air, you wear it anyways as any warmth you can garner to combat the icy environment is, in your eyes, worthwhile.

Snowflakes dust your hair with specks of glistening white, gathering upon the crown of your head where you have neglected to put on a hat. They tickle your nose and gently brush against your rosy cheeks as you tilt your head back. Your face turned towards the sky; watching as the snow twirls and tumbles from the clouds above, gradually blanketing the ground ahead in a pristine carpet of soft white. It crunches as you walk towards the theatre, leaving footsteps on the once-untouched landscape. You take extra caution not to slip on any hidden ice - an injury is the last thing you needed on a day as imperative as this. 

Somewhere in the far distance, the Kremlin bells ring. 

Thirteen mighty chimes thunder throughout the city. You feel the ground rumble in response beneath your feet - a reminder to hurry.

Rushing up the snowy steps of the Bolshoi Ballet Theatre, you quickly let yourself inside in an attempt to escape the chilling temperatures of the Moscovian evening - and to avoid running behind schedule. 

The warm air inside greets you welcomingly. You eagerly pull off your gloves in its presence to soak up the heat it has to offer. Slowly, you begin to regain feeling into your fingers. Sighing a relieved breath, you make your way backstage as the marble floor of the foyer echoes noisily beneath your shoes.

There, you receive a not-so-calm yet begrudgingly familiar greeting. 

Pre-performance is usually like this; congested backstage corridors; a cacophony of frantic demands and directions; boxes of overflowing props and costumes rushed up and down the hall; the deafening pounding of ballerinas breaking in their pointe shoes;  dim lighting making it near impossible to navigate. However today, with your debut as the company’s newly appointed principal dancer just hours away, it feels even more nerve-wrackingly overwhelming. 

You brace yourself as you get swept away in the havoc of opening night, tangled in the rambunctious crowd as it traverses through the labyrinth of backstage passageways.

Despite the absurd amount of people crammed in corridors unable to withstand even a fraction of their current capacity, you miraculously manage to maneuver your way to the dressing room; elbow-to-rib style, ducking under boxes and weaving past those racing in the opposite direction. 

Relief hits you as you swing open the dressing room door, closing it quickly behind you as your eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the bright lighting inside. The much more quieter, yet seemingly livelier chatter of friendly conversation and girlish giggles encompasses you as you move further into the dressing room. You shrug off your coat, laying it to rest on the coathanger and take your seat in front of your dresser.

Tranquility seeps into your bones as you slouch against the chair’s backrest momentarily, soaking up the opportunity of rest no matter how short-lived the moment may be. Mentally, you take the moment to prepare yourself for the evening, and all the chaos and calamity it is sure to bring. 

Sighing, you straighten yourself up in your seat, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as you do so. 

"I didn't know you had a secret admirer.” 

You don’t turn around as the voice chimes up from behind you. You of all people know better than to entertain her playful antics. 

The voice reveals itself from its lurking in the background, resting her chin just above your collarbone and draping her arms over your shoulder. 

Your eyes meet hers in the reflection. She grins back at you.

“Valeria.” You sigh, patting the hand resting around your shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Valeria, crowned tonight’s Black Swan, is one of the company’s longer-serving principal dancers and has self-appointed herself as your tutor and friend as of late. Graciously, she has taken you under her wing these past couple of months as you have gradually adjusted to your newly bestowed title, joining her amongst the Bolshoi’s most prestigious ranks. 

“You too,” She smirks, a little too suspiciously for your liking, pecking your cheek in greeting before returning to her seat at her vanity next to you. “You too.”

You begin to rummage through your stage makeup, tilting the mirror toward you so you can better see, before laying out your needed products on the desk space. You pay no mind to her mischievous staring as you do so. But, as you have learned over your time acquainted with Valeria, nothing can deter her from getting what she wants. And right now, that is to find out who this supposed ‘secret admirer’ is.

"So tell us then," She drawls teasingly, "Who's the lucky boy?"

The edge of your desk presses uncomfortably into your side as you turn to give her your attention. For the time being, anyways. You yourself are somewhat curious as to what she is talking about. But the sooner you can resolve this suppositious accusation, the sooner you can resume to the real issue at hand - getting ready for Swan Lake. 

Confusion stirs at her question, and you tilt your head to the side, urging her to explain further.

A ribbon-wrapped gift box is pushed toward you. You watch on, confused. 

Valeria’s legs swing idly back and fro as she gazes at you expectantly. The corners of her lips tug further into a grin at the silence that ensues and at the completely dumbfounded expression on your face. When you give her no answer, her Cheshire-cat-like grin falters. 

The girls around you giggle, peering over from their makeup stations to indulge in the drama unfolding. Valeria shoots them a look from over your shoulder, one you cannot decipher, but it quietens them down. 

“For me?” you ask doubtfully, slightly stumbling over your words as you take the generous gift into your hands. “Oh Valeria, you shouldn’t have-”

“Not from me.” She huffs.

“I don’t understand,” you mumble, eyes scanning over the gift as you look for a label, a note, a letter, anything that may reveal the gifter’s identity. “Who could this be from?”

She shrugs indifferently, turning to focus on her reflection in the mirror, transfixed on getting the edges of her lipstick just right. 

“The girls who were here before me said it came delivered to the dressing rooms earlier this hour-” She smiles at her appearance, appreciating her flawless makeup in the mirror. Placing the lipstick tube down with a quiet thump, she turns to focus her attention on you once more. 

She pokes a finger at you in playful accusation. “-Asking for you specifically!” 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders, unable to give her the answer she craves, for what reason, is beyond you.  

She eyes you incredulously, before returning her attention to her mirror seemingly unable to neglect her reflection for just a moment longer.

“Well,” She gestures toward the ribbon-wrapped gift with her free hand, playing an unbothered facade. You know full well she is practically itching to uncover this mystery. “Are you going to open it?”

Your eyes dart between her and the suspicious box, almost expecting this to be some sort of ruse, perhaps she had given you a jack-in-the-box and was waiting for you to get the fright of your life; her idea of fun.

Hesitantly, you begin the unravel the sheer ribbon keeping the box from opening. The fabric rubs soothingly against your fingertips, a luxury fabric you have not had the experience of touching before. It was clear that whoever had purchased this was of a wealthy background.  Perhaps, you think, you could make this into a bow to wear. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when you lifted its lid, but you definitely were not expecting a pair of .

“Aye chingao!” Valeria startles as she leans over your shoulder to get a better look.

Nestled between a blanket of draped deluxe fabric, a pearlescent pink, almost winter-white, pair of the most exquisitely crafted pointe shoes lie. You fail to restrain the exasperated sigh of awe at the sight, carefully grazing your fingertips over its silky satin finish as if the slightest touch could possibly damage them. You can confidently say, they are the most beautiful gift you have ever had the pleasure of receiving. 

“No secret admirer,” she says.” Valeria quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's probably just costuming.” You dismiss her far-fetched conspiracies, though, you find it hard to draw your eyes away from the pair of shoes, and the fact that this had definitely not come from the costume department. So who had sent you these?

"Ha, as if Mr. Baryshev would ever allow the budget given to costuming to be used for anything but lining his own pockets!” She laughs bitterly. 

“I’ve been-” Valeria exhales out a frustrated breath, “-trabajando como un burro to afford the means to get wear this!” She growls, her hands gesturing to the coal-coloured feathered fabric of her intricate bodice and tutu. 

You open your mouth to give her your consolation before a knock comes to the door. You, Valeria, and the rest of the room quieten into hushed murmuring - just for a moment. Then-

“On in 30, Ladies!” A gruff voice hollers from the other side of the door.

The room erupts into chaos.

A tsunami of frantic ballerinas surge forward towards the row of dressers, crashing against each other like the tides of a raging sea you had heard many-medal adorning men recount about in tales of some distant land. The only redeeming thing about conducting post-performance business is the stories and tales you overhear; the rest, you are not so keen on.

You take the distraction in stride, shoving the pair of shoes more like semi-worn in pointe hand-me-downs from costuming somewhere under your vanity, and replacing them with your newly acquired gift.

“You’re going to wear them?!” Valeria hisses incredulously. 

You glance at her sideways, smirking back at the priceless expression of amused disbelief on her face.

“Well, they’re shoes, aren’t they?” You jest, grinning at her mischievously. “It would be a shame not to.”

She shakes her head in mock-dissappointment, haphazardously stuffing her stage makeup in its designated drawer before firmly slamming it shut. 

“I fear my mischief is rubbing off on you too much.” She mumbles as she looks up at you, feigning a tone of dismay, only to be betrayed by the growing smirk on her face. 

“Well,” She smoothes her hands over her slicked-back bun of cropped raven hair, "I'll see you out there." 

You give her your goodbyes as she pats you on the shoulder, rising from her chair and making her way toward the dressing room’s door. 

“Don’t let the Director find out,” Valeria whisper-shouts from over her shoulder. “You know what he’s like.”

She ushers the remaining lingering corps-de-ballet girls out of the changing rooms, winking at you as she closes the door gently behind her. 

You listen as the chatter slowly retreats from beneath the doorframe, Valeria’s distinct, accented laughter mingled with that of fast-paced Russian retreating down the echoey corridor ‘till you could hear it no more. A serene silence hugs the now-semi abandoned dressing room; those, including you, who aren’t to appear until later acts remain, a more pacific atmosphere stirs, with subdued gossiping, softer laughter, and a more slowing-encroaching sense of time.

You slump in your chair. 

You have a long evening ahead of you.

The rear of house is relatively quieter now.

You can no longer hear the lively chatter associated with the pre-performance buzz, only the occasional hushed conversation resurfacing through the suffocating silence as people pass by. Walking backstage is always an awkward feat, your pointe shoes make an unpleasantly loud noise against the cold concrete floor with each precarious step you take. 

You had felt bad for having to break them in; they were an extraordinaryly well-crafted pair of pointé shoes, they fit perfectly too, and you were certain the price tag was even more extravagant. You still hadn’t resolved the identity of the mystery gifter, but you’d make sure to thank them profusely for their kindness. For now, however, you have a debut to make. 

Your feet thump rapidly as you semi-rush toward the entrance to the left wing. The further you near, the more people it seems are gathered in anticipation for their appearances onstage. The conversation is greater here than that of in the deeper bowels of the theatre where the dressing room had been. Mingling herds of ballerinas and dancers lean idle against the walls, stretching in preparation for their scenes, and chatting amongst themselves, but done so in more gentle, lower tones so as not to alert the audience of their presence a mere wall away. 

They regard you with reassuring smiles and words of good luck as you briskly waddle by; you reciprocate them with a short-but-sweet smile. 

The music grows in amplitude as you enter the left wing officially; the once gentle thrumming is replaced with an all-encompassing eruption of expertly strung-together instruments. The welcoming embrace of the song is quickly diminished though, much to your dismay because-

The rafters here have always given you the creeps. With no help from Valeria either, who  divulges in gossip of the ‘ballerina’ who had been ‘crushed to death’ by a poorly-secured light fixture on the theatre’s proscenium arch each time she catches you gazing nervously upwards at the looming space. You know it’s mainly just the technicians who lurk up in the rafters, commandeering light cues and stage transformation sequences as the ballet progresses. 

‘You have nothing to fear’, you admonish yourself. 

Still, that doesn’t stop the hair on the back of your neck from standing up as you approach the left stage-side.

Your presence goes unnoticed for not even a second. 

Someone speaks your name in a hushed whisper.

You peer over your shoulder at the source of the sound; the silhouette of a stout-statured man emerges from the left-wing doorway. He seizes you suddenly by the shoulders before you even have time to recognise the overly-touchy-friendly Mr. Ustrashkin.

You stagger at the sudden force with which he embraces you, regaining your balance with an awkward squeak. It is only then do you see the disconcerted look that his face has taken on.

“Mr Ustrashkin?” You begin hesitantly. “Is something the matter?”

“Walk with me, dear.” He requests, but he has already pulled you into motion with the firm grip of his hand on your shoulder.

The two of you trail off to the side to make way for the group of pas de corps, and for the privacy of what you can only assume to be bad news. The ballerinas smile respectfully at you, lowering their heads slightly as they account for your company before skittering off, their ghostly white tutus fluttering by behind them like swirling snowflakes. 

When the last of the dancers had passed by, Mr. Ustrashkin speaks again. You take the small queue of silence to compose yourself exteriorly for what is to come. 

“Something..." He stalls, theatrically contemplating the correct word to use before resuming. "...unexpected came up within these previous hours. A true shame it is, but Fyodor, your dance partner, has sustained an ankle injury. As you can understand, he will be out of commission for the foreseeable future, and unfortunately is unable to perform with you tonight." 

Your heart sinks. It collapses from your chest cavity like a marionette doll on snapped strings; as its puppet master surveilled with cruel glee from above. You wonder what you had done to anger God, for him to administer such a thing onto you. On today of all days too. 

“Oh, um, I-” You stumble over your words in a tangled array of shock, panic, disbelief and uncertainty.  

“None of that now, little swan.” Mr. Ustrashkin tuts, almost as one would scold a misbehaving child. 

You recoil at the unwanted nickname, but are too overcome with internal panic at the newly arisen situation to pay it much mind. Saying anything anyways will get you in trouble, and you have climbed too far into the good graces of the executives of the company to fall out of favour for something so insignificant. 

You struggle to maintain your composure, hanging on the thread of internal and external unbridled alarm. You bite the inside of your cheek to withhold any curses from escaping your mouth.

‘On all days this could have possibly happened on.’ You mumble to yourself mentally. 

“So, if Fyodor isn’t dancing tonight..” Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, eyes trailing from Mr. Ustrashkin and the conversation at hand to the semi-concealed view of the stage. “Who is dancing Prince Siegfried onstage as we speak?”

Swan Lake has been going for around an hour by now, but with your appearance not until the second act, you needn’t be in as much of a rush as those in the first. You had spent that time responsibly; the majority of which was in the dressing room ensuring the costuming was to standard and ogling over the anonymous gift. Much to your displeasure, that also meant you didn’t have the pleasure of seeing everyone off at curtain opening, and you hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of this ‘Mactavish’ Mr Ustrashkin had been singing his praises about to you. 

"Do not fret that pretty little head," The plump man quips. Mr. Ustrashkin pats your back, presumably in an act of reassurance, but the force which he uses almost sends you stumbling forward. "His understudy, Mactavish, has taken up his role."

“Mactavish?” Your head tilts to the side as the syllables of the foreign-sounding name roll off your tongue with a questioning implication. 

“Oh yes!” He startles with a cheery smile. “A wonderful dancer through and through. We scouted his talent in London and had him transferred from The Royal Ballet to dance for us instead.” He rambles on in recollection. “Though the two of you aren’t properly acquainted yet, I’m sure he’ll be substantial as a dance partner in Fyodor’s absence.”

All you can do is nod your head absentmindedly, hoping to be relieved of his unwanted presence. And, like all men are, his attention is quickly drawn to another. 

A loud laugh barks out from across in the right wing. 

“Valeria!” The now-agitated man growls lowly, his teeth grinding together as he storms toward her as quickly as his little legs can carry him. 

‘So that’s where she went,’ you think, half-bemused, half-concerned. You also thank her in your head for unknowingly getting you out of a conversation you no longer had any interest in being involved in.

Rolling your shoulders to relieve some tension that had been building up, your eyes search diligently for someplace to stretch before your presence on stage is needed. Finding one, you make sure to apply an ample amount of rosin to the bottom of your shoes before skittering your way over. 

The minutes pass by neither quickly nor slowly, more like a muddled mixture of the two. Your body moves without control, years and years of dedicated practice leading up to this much anticipated moment allowing your body to memorize the moves. Your thoughts, however, are the fore-focus of your attention. They rumble through your mind like a blinding blizzard, burying any logical thought with a suffocating, unmoveable barrier of bleak snow and amounting stage fright. 

The Pit Orchestra unleashes Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act 1: No. 9, Finale Andante’s crescendo upon the awestricken audience as such Zeus would do to the land below Mount. Olympus with his thunderbolts. If you dare a glance, you may manage to see Mr. Lenkov strumming his harp melodically, or his musical protégé he can’t help himself but boast about day in-day out. 

The floor beneath your feet vibrates as the composition reverberates deafeningly throughout the auditorium; you would struggle to believe the crystal chandelier that looms overhead is not swinging violently nor the champagne glasses the aristocrats’ cradle has not shattered at the absurd volume. Though, it could just be the nervous shaking of your legs.

You catch fleeting visions of the dancers on stage; their shadows flickering in and out of view like the dimming flame of candlelight. Your thoughts are once again drawn back to Fyodor’s supposed understudy. Not once had you had a recital with him, and so you could only hope he was adequately practiced for his role. 

The melody of Act 1’s final act concludes with the triumphant trill of the violin ensemble. The audience erupts into an oscillating ovation; cheering, clapping, whistling; at a volume so loud it could rival its predecessor. Your doubts about Mactavish’s adequacy are quickly disproven. 

It only brings a sliver of comfort, however. 

You linger in the shadows for a moment, trembling fingers brushing hesitantly against the fabric before you. Then, cautiously, you peer out from behind the safety of the illustrious velvet curtains. Your jittery hands fiddle with their golden tassels as you gaze at the exceedingly large audience. The auditorium of the theatre had never been so full.

You try not to let the sheer amount of people overwhelm you; a thousand thousand faces staring stagebound.

You fail.

And as the announcer commences the beginning of tonight's performance, you also fail to notice the man watching you from across the other side of the stage.

 “Bolshoi Ballet proudly presents Swan Lake!”

[2qties]

𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙇𝙔 𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 , 𝘿𝙀𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙄𝘾 𝙎𝙊𝙉

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐

This is simply a drabble that came to mind around two months ago. I'm unsure if I will continue it. Sorry for the post delay , Tumblr was acting up - 🪐

TW: not my usual writing style as it is from a bit ago 🫶🏾 it's an oc but you can imagine yourself as her 🫶🏾

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐

chapter one : family reunion .

In the pulsating core of the dynamic urban landscape, where the resplendent lights of the red-light district cast an almost supernatural radiance, Muzan Kibutsuji, the Sovereign of Demons, advanced with discreet deliberation. Veiled amidst the intricate fabric of human society, he sought a strategic moment to exploit the captivating guise of a demonic oiran—a skillful agent adept at navigating the shadows while accruing wealth to clandestinely further the ominous cause of seamlessly blending into the populous tapestry.

The sumptuous passageways of the oiran district extended a beckoning invitation, embellished with intricate lanterns that swayed gracefully, diffusing a subdued luminosity upon the walls tinged in crimson hues. Muzan, the paragon of refinement and composure, ambulated through the convoluted maze of corridors with an aura of nonchalant detachment.

The courtesans adorning the promenades, their gaze ablaze with alluring intent, endeavored to ensnare his attention, each one vying for the elusive favor of the enigmatic visitor. However, Muzan's impassive stare persisted, impervious to their seductive overtures, his concentration unwaveringly anchored to a matter of greater urgency.

His heightened senses, finely tuned to the intricate tapestry of fragrances wafting through the air, steered him unerringly towards a specific chamber. The lingering scent within was unmistakable—a fusion of familiarity and foreboding, an olfactory composition that surreptitiously divulged intimations of consanguinity. With each step toward the appointed room, the ambiance thickened, saturated with an unsettling energy, the redolence intensifying in both potency and disquietude.

Before he could traverse the threshold, a courtesan, bedecked in resplendent silk and adorned with meticulously painted patterns, glided towards him with a captivating grace. "Honored guest," she purred, her eyes shimmering akin to pools of liquid chocolate, "Why don't you come visit me in my quarters? I can make it worth your while." Her voice, suffused with seductive mellifluousness, endeavored to enthrall his attention.

Muzan summarily dismissed her with a mere glance, his attention resolute and unwavering. "Your trivial offerings hold no allure for me. Step aside," he commanded, his voice resonating with the gravitas of a myriad shadows.

The courtesan recoiled, her façade momentarily shattered by the callous indifference she encountered. Scowling with vexation, she found herself disconcerted by the rejection, her aspirations of financial gain seemingly thwarted by the man who spurned her allure. As she cast a furtive glance back at him, her eyes widened, and she gasped at the unfolding scene.

"B-but, sir," she stammered, panic flickering in her eyes, "you must not enter that room! The oiran residing within does not take kindly to unannounced patrons. Her presence is not to be trifled with. She—she's unhinged!"

Muzan, the embodiment of arrogance, summarily dismissed her words with a disdainful wave of his hand and smoothly slid open both shoji doors. The room unveiled beyond was immersed in an unsettling quietude, a conspicuous divergence from the tumultuous noise resonating from the surroundings.

Shattered glass and strewn fragments of various objects adorned the space, forming a chaotic tapestry that laid bare the unbridled disposition of its inhabitant. Surveying the disarray, Muzan arched an eyebrow, seemingly comprehending the courtesan's forewarning about the oiran's unstable nature. However, his countenance remained unruffled, displaying an unaffected demeanor.

As Muzan attentively surveyed the disarray, the door swung closed behind him, enclosing him within the mysterious chamber's confines. The atmosphere burgeoned with an oppressive energy, and the previously discernible scent that had served as his guide now intensified, enveloping him more potently. The fragrance became increasingly robust, and from the opposite side of the sealed door, the muffled sounds of courtesans scrambling, squirming, and hastily retreating permeated the air, leaving an uneasy anticipation lingering in its wake.

Suddenly, he felt it—a presence looming directly behind him, and a familiar awareness washed over him like a chilling realization. The veins on his forehead and forearms pulsated, agitated in a luminous display of mounting rage, for he unequivocally recognized the identity of the entity now in close proximity.

"Angry, are we?" The figure positioned behind him taunted, a mocking chuckle escaping at the expense of Muzan's seething fury. Muzan maintained a stoic silence, refraining from uttering a single word. The presence continued its taunts with a sardonic tone, "You remain a disobedient one after all these years, persistently deaf to warnings Didn't that charming girl tell you to leave this room alone?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Muzan fixed his gaze upon the imposing figure that towered above him, draped in silken garments that appeared to waltz with the shadows—predominantly ruby and obsidian black. The woman's countenance remained enshrouded behind an elaborate mask, an intricate veil of darkness that concealed the true essence of her being, until she took another deliberate step closer to him

 As the lone light source in the room faintly illuminated her face, he locked eyes with her, scrutinizing her long black hair, eyes tinted a plum-red, pupils resembling the slits of a feline, and an aura of malevolence that matched the ominous reputation that preceded her. The woman, whose malevolence surpassed even his own, stood in his presence, a twisted smile playing upon her lips.

The malevolent curve of her smile metamorphosed into a saccharine expression as she enveloped him in an unexpected embrace from behind. Muzan, though internally vexed, made no attempt to resist. "Aren't you such a magnificent young man, aging handsomely, hm?" she teased with a girlish giggle, provoking a reluctant turn of his head in an enduring state of disdain, ruing the moment he stepped into her room.

In a sudden shift, she seized his chin, compelling him to meet her gaze. The ostensibly sweet smile persisted, but a belligerent glint gleamed in her eyes. "Hug me back," she demanded, her tone betraying a subtle hostility. Muzan, unyielding in his disposition, refused compliance. Unhurriedly, the tip of her thumbnail began to press into his jaw, and a sigh of frustration escaped him as he witnessed his own blood slowly seeping forth.

To mollify the woman, he begrudgingly reciprocated the embrace. In that instant, all traces of hostility evaporated from her form, replaced by jubilant giggles as she reveled in the compelled intimacy.

Relinquishing the embrace, she delicately placed her hands on Muzan's cheeks, a playful tease dancing in her eyes. "Not even going to offer a proper greeting?" she chided, to which Muzan responded with a begrudging grunt of annoyance. "Greetings," he muttered, hoping to conclude the formality swiftly. However, she refused to accept his curt acknowledgment, maintaining a radiant smile as she peered down at him.

"Naughty boy," she cooed, her tone honeyed but with a subtle undertone of authority, "always forgetting how to greet your elders. Greet me again, and this time, do it properly." She sweetly demanded, her insistence compelling Muzan to comply. Slowly withdrawing from her embrace, he took a step back and executed a half-bow. However, it wasn't to her satisfaction.

Unperturbed, she extended her hand towards his head, a gesture that forcefully guided it downwards, ensuring his bow assumed a deeper reverence. With meticulous attention to detail, she sought the utmost respect. Muzan, yielding to her unspoken demand, muttered,

"Greetings, 

mother."

┌──❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚─┐

𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗢 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦

└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

🕷 Muzan does not like his mother.

🕷 Muzan's mother, Akuryō Kyūsai's, name means Evil Spirit's Salvation.

🕷 Akuryō has a twisted way of loving Muzan. Like the love a mad scientist has for their creation.

[waklman]

fake it is my bread and butter I’m in love thank u. I feel like reader is going to start pulling away. OMG WHAT IF jake kissed the reader in front of a bunch of people when he was beyond drunk or did something that made the reader embarrassed and uncomfortable so she isn’t talking to him and jake pleads for her forgiveness and it’s angsty and fluffy

note: okay i don't really know what this was but i'm just happy i was able to finally write something honestly, anyways here is more jake and princess until i pull myself together to work on the next chapter </3

warnings: mentions of drinking, insecurities.

If you were merely a book, you’d be a forgotten composition of bounded paper, quietly collecting dust on the unreachable bay of a shelf inside a fading bookstore—barely visited by anyone but the owners themselves.

And Jake would be the first person to ever be drawn in by you, setting off the soft chime of the entrance, walking right up to the shelf you sat on, extending himself to gently pluck you from the rotting oak that previously held you upright, and take you home with him.

When it’s finally just you two surrounded by the shrouding walls of his bedroom, Jake would slowly run his calloused finger down your uncracked leathered spine to ease you open, gaining your trust. Eventually, your pages would unfurl themselves to him—revealing stories that breathed life into your biggest aspirations and smallest insecurities, laid bare for his naked eyes to see.

And Jake would read those inked lines, over and over again until he could recite your contents in his sleep, until his heart filled with fondness when he thought of you, until you became his favorite piece of literature. 

That’s how you’d like to think of your relationship with Jake, anyway. You were something that existed solely for his mind to study, for him to understand. No one else. 

Jake would never return you back to that shop, Jake would never make you feel a semblance of regret for opening up to him, Jake would never laugh at things that would wear down your stitched pages. 

Oh, but he did, right in your face too. 

The moment Jake’s drunk laugh spilled out his chest at Jeremy Duncan’s sloppy joke about you being so quiet he forgot you were there—it was like you entrusted a stranger to hold your red solo cup. 

The same lips that read over your fear about feeling invisible, were the same ones that curled into a smile when a jab was made at you.

Rather than facing that reality head on, you glued back shut, reverting back to that lonely collection of narratives that you didn’t let anyone read. But this time, you couldn’t go running back to that high shelf that hid you away—all you could do was slowly withdraw from the person who took you off of it. 

Jake knew you needed solitude at times, and he respected that, it was how you recharged your energy after any social event.

So, for the last few days he let you do just that. He let you wordlessly walk past him when he tried to reach out for you to join him on the couch. He let you say less and less to him when he just wanted to hear your voice over dinner, afraid he might forget how it sounded. He let you sneak out earlier each day, just so you could avoid walking to class with him.

He let you do all of that, suppressing his slight worry—until he picked up on how you would nervously stand outside his door at random points in the night, only to eventually go back to your own room. And to make matters worse, if Jake hadn’t been staying up late, racking his brain about you rather than sleeping, he wouldn’t have even noticed that you started to do that.

Jake knew you needed solitude at times, but he also knew that something was wrong. 

So, that’s when he decided to stop letting you walk away from him, because it was starting to plague him with concern at this point. 

But, when Jake weakly trailed past your door frame, and kneeled at your seated figure at the corner of your bed, you flinched when he instinctively extended his hands to hold yours. 

Refusing to meet his stare, you miss the subtle traces of disappointment that flit across his features.

“You..don’t want me touching you?” Jake’s quiet voice is colored by hurt, hands cautiously dropping to fiddle with the cuffs of your loose sweatpants instead. You at least let him do that, because it keeps him at a distance, because the fabric he’s gently playing with acts as a safeguard between you and him.  

Gaze casted down into your lap, you reverently shake your head. “No, Jake,” you refuse him, your own strained voice mirroring his own. 

If you were merely a book, he’d laugh at the way you awkwardly sat, he’d playfully bump shoulders with the same people who looked through you like you weren’t there. 

With that, he feels an unsettling guilt well up inside his stomach, rising up to his throat like bile. “Okay, I see. Will you tell me what I did wrong then?” Jake sucks in deep breath, only releasing it when he sees you let out a somewhat steady breath for yourself. 

Even when a burn spreads through his lungs for what feels like a full minute, he still doesn’t feel deserving when he goes to cool it, not when you probably don’t think he’s deserving of it either. 

“No, Jake,” you reinforce, shoulders beginning to tremble from the pressure of refusing him, from the pressure of closing yourself back up.  

If you were merely a book, you wouldn’t let him take you into his careful hands, he’d only read your unshared secrets to the world. 

For Jake, it feels almost sinful to hold himself back from soothing his palms over your shaking body. His fingers clutch the ankles of your pants tighter, a desperate bid for solace. “Please, talk to me princess,” he helplessly begs, not knowing what else to do with himself. “You won’t even come into my room.”

“No, Jake,” you repeat, unaware of the tear that glides down your cheek. “You laughed, when Jeremy said I was practically invisible. You laughed at me.” The crack of your spine urges you to stay resilient like you did before, but the crack of your spine can’t help how much it aches for him to gently coax it again.

Jake stills as realization washes down on him, chest unwinding at your explanation. 

If you were merely a book, you would want to be perched on that shelving unit. You don’t need Jake to be drawn in by what your pages held, you don’t need him to not feel put off by the plain cover that held you together. You don’t need—

Without a warning, Jake scoops you up from where you’re sitting, forcing you to encircle your legs around his middle as he leads you into the threshold of his room. 

“I laughed because I thought it was the stupidest shit I ever heard,” he carefully explains, keeping you in lap as he goes to sit on his sheets. “You’re funny if you think I didn’t tell him off the morning after,” he continues, recounting the string of threats that fell off his tongue when found Jeremy after class.

When you finally look at him, cheeks sticky from streaky tears and waterlogged lashes fluttering at him, Jake feels his heart swell in his chest. Naturally, he goes to playfully tousle your hair, gently, mindful of the migraine that tends to follow after your crying. 

If you were merely a book, he would have corners of the most important pages gently folded in, ingraining each word and punctuation mark that made you vulnerable into his memory. 

“Jake, what would you do if I was a book?” You ask through a weak smile, heart gently throbbing as you notice the tenderness reflected in his eyes.

Smoothing down the hair he’s ruffled with both hands, Jake gives your question some thought. “Is this one of those, would you love me if I was a worm kinda questions?” 

Clutching the hems of his shirt between your hands for solace, you nod at him, waiting for one of those lighthearted responses he always gives you.

But sensing that you’d want a genuine answer instead, Jake gives you just that. 

“If you were a book,” he starts, brushing strands of hair behind your ears. “I would never get sick of reading you princess. Think you’d be my favorite,” and he means it.

[cartel34]

Download Native Instruments' Ignition Keys

Unlock the door to musical inspiration with Native Instruments' Ignition Keys – a dynamic virtual instrument that ignites creativity and delivers captivating keyboard performances. Dive into a world of expressive pianos, soulful electric keys, and vintage synthesizers, as Ignition Keys offers a versatile collection of sounds that breathe life into your compositions and productions.

Ignition Keys is a testament to Native Instruments' Download commitment to sonic excellence and innovation. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail and sampled from top-tier instruments, this virtual keyboard delivers an unmatched level of authenticity and depth. Whether you're scoring for film, producing contemporary tracks, or arranging pop ballads, Ignition Keys empowers you to express yourself with clarity and emotion.

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More than just a virtual instrument, Ignition Keys is a catalyst for musical creativity and expression. Elevate your compositions with the dynamic energy and authenticity of keyboard performances, adding depth and emotion to your music. Whether you're producing pop, jazz, funk, or electronic compositions, Ignition Keys provides the versatility and realism to bring your musical vision to life with unparalleled precision.

Download Native Instruments' Ignition Keys now and fuel your creativity with the power of dynamic keyboard performances. Immerse yourself in the rich, expressive sounds of pianos, electric keys, and synthesizers, and experience the joy of authentic keyboard performances at your fingertips. Whether you're a seasoned composer or an aspiring artist, Ignition Keys offers endless possibilities for musical expression and innovation, allowing you to unleash your full potential as a composer and performer.

[insdindia]

Best Designing Institute in India Offering Professional Photography Courses in Pune

Photography has evolved beyond just an art form—it’s a powerful communication tool, an essential skill in the digital age, and a career with limitless potential. Pune, with its rich cultural heritage and rapidly growing creative industry, has emerged as a hub for aspiring photographers seeking to master the craft. If you’re looking to learn professional photography courses in Pune, you're at the right place. This blog will guide you through the journey of becoming a photography expert, highlighting why you should choose the best designing institute in India to hone your skills.

Why Pursue a Professional Photography Course?

In today’s world, photography is no longer confined to just enthusiasts. It is a professional skill required across industries like fashion, advertising, media, weddings, and events. The demand for professional photographers has grown, making it essential to receive structured training. Here are key reasons to consider professional photography courses:

Master the Technical Aspects Photography is more than just clicking pictures. It involves understanding technical aspects such as exposure, aperture, ISO, composition, and lighting. A structured course helps you grasp these technical details to create stunning visuals that stand out.

Develop a Unique Creative Vision While technical skills are crucial, creativity sets a professional photographer apart. Photography courses foster creativity by helping you explore various styles, genres, and techniques. Whether it's fashion photography, wildlife, or documentary, you’ll learn how to express your unique perspective.

Stay Ahead with Latest Tools and Techniques Photography is constantly evolving with new tools, technologies, and techniques. Enrolling in a professional photography course ensures that you stay updated with the latest trends, equipment, and editing software. You'll learn to use DSLRs, mirrorless cameras, drones, and editing tools like Adobe Lightroom and Photoshop.

Build a Portfolio and Network Any aspiring photographer needs a well-curated portfolio that showcases their skills. During the course, you’ll have opportunities to work on projects that will help you create a portfolio. Additionally, being part of the best designing institute in India gives you access to industry networks and professional guidance, opening doors to various career opportunities.

Career Flexibility Photography offers flexible career paths. Whether you want to freelance, work with established media houses, or venture into wedding or event photography, professional courses provide you with the foundation to succeed in diverse fields.

Best Designing Institute in India: Why It Stands Out

When it comes to choosing the right place to learn professional photography courses in Pune, it's essential to opt for an institute that provides a comprehensive curriculum, industry exposure, and experienced faculty. The best designing institute in India offering photography courses in Pune stands out for several reasons:

Industry-Relevant Curriculum The courses offered are designed in consultation with industry experts to ensure that students are equipped with relevant skills. From basic camera operations to advanced post-production techniques, the curriculum covers every aspect of photography. Special modules are available for various genres like portrait, landscape, wildlife, fashion, and product photography.

Experienced Faculty The institute boasts a team of experienced photographers and mentors who have extensive knowledge of the field. Their real-world experiences bring depth to the classroom, ensuring students receive not only theoretical knowledge but also practical insights that are crucial for success in photography.

State-of-the-Art Facilities The photography studio at the institute is equipped with the latest tools, including high-end cameras, lighting equipment, and editing software. Students can experiment and learn in a professional environment that simulates real-world conditions, ensuring they’re job-ready upon graduation.

Comprehensive Training From technical knowledge to soft skills like client handling and negotiation, the best designing institute in India provides well-rounded training. It also offers workshops on editing tools like Lightroom and Photoshop, enabling students to perfect their images through post-processing.

Placement Assistance The institute maintains strong ties with leading media houses, advertising agencies, and fashion brands. Their placement cell actively helps students secure internships and job placements in top companies. This practical experience is vital to shaping a successful career.

 

Professional Photography Courses in Pune: Course Structure and Offerings

The professional photography courses in Pune offered by the best designing institute cater to different skill levels—from beginners to advanced learners. Let’s look at the key components of the course:

1. Foundation Course in Photography

This course is ideal for beginners. It covers the basics of photography, such as understanding camera settings, light, composition, and framing. You’ll also explore different types of lenses and how to use them effectively. By the end of this course, you’ll be able to shoot manually with full control over your camera settings.

2. Advanced Photography Techniques

This is for those looking to take their photography skills to the next level. You’ll learn advanced techniques such as shooting in RAW, working with artificial and natural light, and exploring creative styles like long exposure, HDR, and macro photography. This course also includes in-depth modules on post-production editing.

3. Specialization Modules

Once you’ve built a solid foundation, the institute offers specialized modules based on your interests. Whether you want to excel in fashion photography, wedding photography, wildlife photography, or product photography, you can choose a module that aligns with your career goals.

4. Workshops and Masterclasses

In addition to the regular curriculum, the institute organizes frequent workshops and masterclasses with well-known photographers from the industry. These sessions give students valuable insights into current trends and offer networking opportunities that can lead to internships or job offers.

How to Learn Professional Photography Courses in Pune: Step-by-Step Guide

If you’re excited to learn professional photography courses in Pune, here’s a step-by-step guide to help you get started:

Research Institutes and Courses The first step is to find an institute that offers quality education. Ensure that the course aligns with your goals, whether you're a beginner looking for foundational knowledge or an advanced photographer seeking specialization.

Check Faculty and Resources Investigate the qualifications of the faculty and the resources available at the institute. An experienced faculty and access to state-of-the-art equipment are crucial for a comprehensive learning experience.

Enroll in the Course Once you've chosen your course, complete the enrollment process. Most institutes offer flexible learning schedules, so pick a course that fits your lifestyle—whether it’s full-time, part-time, or online.

Participate in Workshops and Practice Photography is a skill that requires continuous practice. Participate actively in all practical sessions, field trips, and workshops. Real-world experience is essential for honing your skills.

Build a Portfolio As you learn, make sure to build a portfolio that showcases your best work. This will be crucial when you start applying for jobs or looking for freelance opportunities.

Stay Updated Keep learning even after the course ends. Photography is constantly evolving, and it’s important to stay updated on the latest trends, tools, and techniques. You can do this by attending advanced workshops or subscribing to photography magazines and blogs.

Why Pune is an Ideal Location for Learning Photography

Pune, often referred to as the "Oxford of the East," is known for its thriving educational environment and vibrant creative community. This makes it an ideal location to learn professional photography courses in Pune. Here are a few reasons why Pune stands out:

Cultural Diversity: Pune is a melting pot of cultures, offering a variety of subjects for photographers to capture. From bustling street life to serene landscapes, Pune provides a wide range of photography opportunities.

Creative Hub: The city is home to many creative professionals—artists, filmmakers, designers—creating a supportive community for photographers. You can easily network, collaborate, and grow within this space.

Access to Nature: With its proximity to the Western Ghats and numerous lakes, Pune provides ample opportunities for nature and landscape photography.

Growing Media and Fashion Industry: Pune’s media and fashion industries are growing, leading to a rising demand for photographers. Learning photography in this city gives you access to a booming market and networking opportunities with industry professionals.

Conclusion: Master Your Photography Skills with the Best Designing Institute in India

Choosing to learn professional photography courses in Pune at the best designing institute in India is a transformative step towards a rewarding career in photography. The institute’s comprehensive courses, experienced faculty, industry connections, and state-of-the-art facilities ensure you are well-equipped to succeed in the dynamic world of photography.

Whether you’re a beginner looking to explore the art of photography or an advanced learner aiming to specialize, the institute offers a tailored approach to suit your needs. With the right training, guidance, and a passion for the craft, you can turn your love for photography into a successful career. Start your journey today and master photography with the best designing institute in India!

[jcmarchi]

Breaking the bro culture: Why we need more women in tech and AI

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/breaking-the-bro-culture-why-we-need-more-women-in-tech-and-ai/

Breaking the bro culture: Why we need more women in tech and AI

 The dawn of artificial intelligence (AI) was marred by a disturbing reality: systems designed for facial recognition consistently misidentified women and individuals with darker skin tones.

The repercussions extended beyond mere inconvenience; they were profoundly damaging, leading to wrongful arrests and the perpetuation of harmful stereotypes. This wasn’t a simple technical glitch. It was a glaring reflection of the predominantly male teams that built the technology, highlighting a fundamental flaw in the industry’s composition.

This narrative isn’t isolated. Across the tech landscape, a recurring pattern emerges: a lack of diversity that yields outcomes that are, at best, biased and, at worst, deeply harmful.

Despite its claims to innovation, the industry remains entrenched in an antiquated “bro culture” that marginalizes women and stifles diversity. The consequences of this exclusion reverberate far beyond the workplace, impacting the very technology that shapes our world.

The unseen costs of bro culture

The tech industry has long been dominated by a “bro culture” that elevates male perspectives and diminishes the contributions of women. This culture manifests in subtle and overt ways, from being interrupted or talked over in meetings to being passed over for promotions. The result is an industry where women are chronically underrepresented, especially in leadership roles.

However, the ramifications of this culture extend beyond the individual women affected. By sidelining women, the tech industry forfeits the innovation that springs from diverse perspectives.

Extensive research consistently demonstrates that diverse teams are more creative, more effective, and more likely to generate groundbreaking solutions. Yet, the industry remains stubbornly homogenous, clinging to a culture that is increasingly misaligned with its aspirations for progress.

A personal lens

Neja, a talented software engineer, shared her experiences navigating the challenges of a male-dominated tech environment. She recounted instances where she was the sole woman in team meetings, her ideas often dismissed or appropriated, while her male colleagues received recognition for her work. Neja’s story, unfortunately, resonates with countless women in the field.

To bridge the gender gap in tech and AI, we need a multifaceted approach that transcends good intentions. Concrete actions and accountability measures are essential to create an environment where women can flourish. In Neja’s words, “It’s not enough to open doors; we must build pathways that lead to the boardroom.”

Leadership accountability is paramount. Setting measurable diversity goals and regularly assessing progress are critical steps in shifting the culture and empowering more women to pursue careers in technology.

The imperative of diverse voices in AI development

The urgency for diversity is most pronounced in the realm of artificial intelligence. The World Economic Forum’s Global Gender Gap Report 2023 reveals a stark reality: only 22% of AI workers are women. This statistic underscores the profound gender disparity in the field and emphasizes the critical need to increase women’s participation.

AI systems are trained on massive datasets. If these datasets are biased, the AI will replicate and even amplify these biases. We’ve witnessed the damage this can inflict, from facial recognition software that misidentifies people of color to hiring algorithms that discriminate against women. These problems don’t originate from malice; they arise from the absence of diverse voices during the development process.

When women and other underrepresented groups are excluded from AI development, their perspectives and experiences are omitted from the data and algorithms.

This can lead to technology that fails to serve everyone equitably or, worse, actively harms marginalized groups. To build AI systems that are fair, equitable, and effective, it’s imperative to include diverse voices at every stage of development. It’s not just about mitigating bias; it’s about creating technology that works for everyone.

“It’s not enough to open doors; we must build pathways that lead to the boardroom.”

Women in leadership: Charting the course for technology’s future

Diversity in tech isn’t solely about numbers; it’s about influence. It’s insufficient to simply have more women in the room—they need to occupy leadership positions where they can shape the trajectory of technological advancements. Women leaders bring unique perspectives that are indispensable for ensuring that technology is developed with ethics, inclusivity, and societal impact in mind.

Without diverse women in leadership roles, the tech industry risks perpetuating a path where innovation benefits the few at the expense of the many. When women lead, they introduce fresh ideas, challenge assumptions, and champion practices that are more equitable.

This is particularly crucial in AI, where the stakes are high, and the potential for both positive and negative impacts is immense. Women leaders can guide the industry toward a future where technology is not only innovative but also ethical and inclusive.

Forging a more inclusive future

Addressing the gender imbalance in tech necessitates more than just well-meaning intentions. It demands concrete actions that foster an environment where women can thrive.

This includes implementing policies that promote diversity and inclusion, establishing mentorship and sponsorship programs, and holding leadership accountable for cultivating a supportive culture. It also entails elevating women into leadership roles where they can directly influence the future of technology.

Companies must re-evaluate how they promote and support women, ensuring they have access to high-visibility projects and clear pathways to leadership. It’s not enough to open doors; we must construct pathways that lead to the boardroom. Leadership accountability is crucial.

Setting measurable goals for diversity, regularly assessing progress, and celebrating the contributions of women in tech are key steps in transforming the culture and inspiring more women to pursue careers in technology.

A clarion call

The tech industry stands at a critical juncture. It can either cling to outdated norms and impede its own growth or embrace diversity and inclusion as the catalysts for innovation and success. Dismantling the barriers of bro culture isn’t just about achieving equality; it’s about creating superior technology that benefits all of humanity.

By elevating diverse women into leadership roles, we ensure that technology evolves in ways that are groundbreaking, ethical, and inclusive. The stakes are high—not just for women but for the future of the entire industry and society as a whole. This isn’t simply a matter of doing what’s right; it’s a strategic imperative for building a more just and equitable future.

Learn more about about bias in AI – check out the article below.

Bias in AI: Understanding and mitigating algorithmic discrimination

Explore how steering AI responsibly, like driving a car, requires understanding and mitigating biases for society’s safety and fairness.

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Aspire Composite Doors provide high quality composite doors that are designed for superior efficiency, security and low maintenance. We cater to both residential and commercial projects and each of our composite door installations is completely bespoke. We offer a beautiful range of composite front doors and back doors in an amazing collection of colours, and finishes. Get in touch with us for our competitive pricing today!

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Understanding the EMSAT Exam: A Comprehensive Guide

The EMSAT exam, an acronym for the Emirates Standardized Test, is a pivotal assessment designed to evaluate the academic readiness of students in the United Arab Emirates. This comprehensive exam plays a crucial role in shaping the educational trajectory of students, serving both as a benchmark for their academic abilities and a tool for higher education institutions to gauge student preparedness. In this article, we will delve into the intricacies of the EMSAT exam, exploring its purpose, structure, and significance, while also highlighting the role of Elmadrasah.com in providing exceptional preparatory courses for this important test.

What is the EMSAT Exam?

The EMSAT exam is a standardized test developed by the UAE Ministry of Education. It aims to assess the knowledge and skills of students in various subjects, ensuring they meet the academic standards required for higher education and professional success. The exam covers a range of subjects, including Mathematics, English Language, Science, and Arabic Language, depending on the student’s educational track and career aspirations.

One of the primary purposes of the EMSAT exam is to provide a reliable measure of a student’s readiness for university-level education. By evaluating their proficiency in core subjects, the EMSAT helps identify areas where students may need additional support, thus guiding them towards appropriate educational pathways. This makes the EMSAT exam a crucial component of the UAE’s educational assessment system.

Structure and Format of the EMSAT Exam

The EMSAT exam is designed to be comprehensive, testing students on a variety of subjects with a focus on critical thinking and problem-solving skills. Here’s a closer look at the structure and format of the exam:

Mathematics: The Mathematics section of the EMSAT exam assesses students’ understanding of key mathematical concepts and their ability to apply these concepts to solve problems. The questions are designed to evaluate both theoretical knowledge and practical application.

English Language: In this section, students are tested on their proficiency in English, including reading comprehension, grammar, and writing skills. The aim is to measure how well students can understand and communicate in English, which is crucial for academic success in higher education.

Science: The Science section evaluates students’ knowledge in various scientific disciplines, including Physics, Chemistry, and Biology. The questions are designed to test students’ understanding of scientific concepts and their ability to apply these concepts to real-world scenarios.

Arabic Language: For students who are native Arabic speakers or are pursuing studies in Arabic, this section assesses their proficiency in the Arabic language. It covers aspects such as reading comprehension, grammar, and composition.

Importance of the EMSAT Exam

The EMSAT exam holds significant importance for students in the UAE. Here’s why:

University Admission: Many universities in the UAE use EMSAT scores as a criterion for admission. A strong performance on the EMSAT exam can enhance a student’s chances of gaining admission to their desired institution.

Academic Benchmark: The EMSAT provides a benchmark for students’ academic abilities, helping them and their educators identify strengths and areas for improvement. This allows for targeted interventions to support students’ educational development.

Career Opportunities: Performing well on the EMSAT exam can open doors to various career opportunities. A solid academic foundation is often a prerequisite for many professional roles, and the EMSAT helps ensure that students are well-prepared for their future careers.

Elmadrasah.com: Your Partner in EMSAT Exam Preparation

Preparing for the EMSAT exam can be a daunting task, given its comprehensive nature and the high stakes involved. This is where Elmadrasah.com comes into play. As a leading provider of educational resources and preparatory courses, Elmadrasah.com offers a range of services designed to help students excel in the EMSAT exam.

Expert-Led Courses

Elmadrasah.com provides expert-led courses that are tailored to the EMSAT exam. These courses are designed by experienced educators who understand the nuances of the exam and can provide valuable insights and strategies for success. Whether students need help with Mathematics, English, Science, or Arabic, Elmadrasah.com offers specialized courses to address their needs.

Comprehensive Study Materials

One of the key features of Elmadrasah.com is its extensive collection of study materials. These materials include practice tests, study guides, and interactive resources that cover all aspects of the EMSAT exam. By using these resources, students can familiarize themselves with the exam format, practice their skills, and build confidence.

Personalized Support

Elmadrasah.com offers personalized support to help students achieve their best possible scores on the EMSAT exam. This support includes one-on-one tutoring, where students can receive individualized attention and guidance from experienced instructors. Personalized support helps address specific areas of difficulty and ensures that students are well-prepared for the exam.

Flexible Learning Options

Understanding that students have different learning preferences and schedules, Elmadrasah.com offers flexible learning options. Students can choose from online courses, in-person classes, or a combination of both, allowing them to learn at their own pace and convenience. This flexibility ensures that all students have access to high-quality preparatory resources, regardless of their individual circumstances.

Proven Success

Many students who have used Elmadrasah.com’s preparatory courses have reported significant improvements in their EMSAT exam scores. The platform’s proven success in helping students achieve their academic goals is a testament to the quality of its resources and the effectiveness of its teaching methods.

Conclusion

The EMSAT exam is a crucial assessment that plays a significant role in shaping the academic and professional futures of students in the UAE. By evaluating students’ proficiency in key subjects, the EMSAT helps ensure they are prepared for higher education and career opportunities. Preparing for the EMSAT exam can be challenging, but with the support of Elmadrasah.com, students can access high-quality resources and expert guidance to enhance their chances of success.

Elmadrasah.com’s comprehensive preparatory courses, expert-led instruction, and personalized support make it an invaluable resource for students preparing for the EMSAT exam. By utilizing these resources, students can approach the EMSAT exam with confidence and achieve their academic goals.

In summary, the EMSAT exam is more than just a test; it is a gateway to higher education and future success. With the right preparation and support, students can excel in the EMSAT and set themselves on a path to achieving their academic and career aspirations.

[daaminit]

Unleashing Creativity: The BSc in Animation and VFX at AAFT University

In the ever-evolving world of digital media and entertainment, Animation and Visual Effects (VFX) have become pivotal in bringing stories to life. From blockbuster movies to engaging video games, the magic of animation and VFX is everywhere. If you are passionate about creating captivating visuals and dream of a career in this dynamic field, the Bachelor of Science (BSc) in Animation and VFX at AAFT University could be your perfect launchpad.

Why Choose the BSc in Animation and VFX at AAFT University?

AAFT University is renowned for its cutting-edge programs that blend creativity with technical prowess. Here’s why the BSc in Animation and VFX at AAFT stands out:

Comprehensive Curriculum

The BSc in Animation and VFX program offers a robust curriculum that covers the entire spectrum of animation and visual effects. From the basics of drawing and design to advanced 3D modeling, animation techniques, and VFX compositing, students gain a thorough understanding of both the artistic and technical aspects of the field.

State-of-the-Art Facilities

AAFT University provides students with access to state-of-the-art facilities, including high-end computer labs, industry-standard software, and dedicated animation and VFX studios. These resources ensure that students are well-equipped to create high-quality work and stay abreast of the latest industry trends and technologies.

Hands-On Learning

The program emphasizes practical, hands-on learning experiences. Students engage in real-world projects, workshops, and internships that allow them to apply their theoretical knowledge in practical settings. This experiential approach ensures that graduates are industry-ready and confident in their skills.

Experienced Faculty

The faculty at AAFT University consists of seasoned professionals and academicians with extensive experience in animation and VFX. They provide personalized guidance, mentorship, and industry insights, helping students navigate the complexities of the field and develop a professional portfolio.

Industry Connections

AAFT University has strong ties with the animation and VFX industry. This network provides students with opportunities for internships, collaborative projects, and job placements. Regular guest lectures, industry visits, and seminars by renowned professionals ensure that students are well-connected and updated with the latest industry trends.

Career Opportunities in Animation and VFX

A BSc in Animation and VFX from AAFT University opens doors to a plethora of career opportunities in various sectors. Graduates can pursue roles such as:

Animator: Create animated sequences for films, television shows, video games, and online media.

VFX Artist: Design and implement visual effects for movies, TV shows, commercials, and other media.

3D Modeler: Develop 3D models for characters, environments, and objects used in animation, games, and simulations.

Compositor: Combine live-action footage with computer-generated imagery (CGI) to create seamless visual effects.

Game Designer: Conceptualize and design interactive game environments, characters, and mechanics.

Conclusion

The BSc in Animation and VFX at AAFT University is a comprehensive program that nurtures creativity, hones technical skills, and prepares students for successful careers in the exciting world of animation and visual effects. With a focus on hands-on learning, state-of-the-art facilities, experienced faculty, and strong industry connections, AAFT University provides an ideal environment for aspiring animators and VFX artists to thrive.

If you're passionate about creating stunning visuals and bringing imaginative worlds to life, consider enrolling in the BSc in Animation and VFX program at AAFT University. Your journey into the fascinating realm of animation and VFX starts here.

[catchasta]

Capturing Your Professional Image: Headshots In Tweed Heads And Byron Bay

In today's competitive professional landscape, a high-quality headshot is more than just a photograph—it's a powerful tool that can open doors to new opportunities and create a lasting impression. Whether you're an actor, a corporate executive, or a freelancer, a well-crafted headshot is essential. At Catch A Star, we specialize in providing top-tier Headshots Tweed Heads and Byron Bay, ensuring that your professional image is always at its best.

The Importance of Professional Headshots

A professional headshot serves as your visual resume. It's often the first impression potential employers, clients, and collaborators will have of you. A well-taken headshot can convey confidence, approachability, and professionalism, making it a critical component of your personal brand. Here are a few reasons why investing in a professional headshot is worthwhile:

First Impressions Matter: A high-quality headshot can set you apart from the competition, making you more memorable to potential employers or clients.

Building Trust: A professional headshot can establish trust and credibility. People are more likely to engage with someone who appears polished and professional.

Personal Branding: Consistent, high-quality images across your professional profiles can enhance your personal brand and ensure you are recognized and remembered.

Why Choose Catch A Star for Your Headshots?

At Catch A Star, we understand the nuances of capturing the perfect headshot. Our experienced photographers specialize in creating images that highlight your unique personality and professional image. Here’s what sets us apart:

Expertise in Various Styles: Whether you need corporate headshots, actor headshots, or creative portraits, our team has the expertise to deliver stunning results.

Personalized Experience: We take the time to understand your goals and tailor the session to meet your specific needs. From wardrobe advice to posing tips, we ensure you feel confident and comfortable.

High-Quality Equipment: Using state-of-the-art photography equipment, we guarantee sharp, high-resolution images that stand out.

Post-Production Excellence: Our post-production process includes meticulous editing to enhance your features while maintaining a natural look.

Headshots in Tweed Heads

Tweed Heads, with its picturesque coastal scenery and vibrant community, provides a beautiful backdrop for professional headshots. At Catch A Star, we leverage the natural beauty of the area to create stunning, memorable images. Here’s what you can expect from a headshot session in Tweed Heads:

Scenic Locations: We can shoot in various locations around Tweed Heads, utilizing the stunning beaches, lush parks, and urban settings to complement your headshot.

Comfortable Environment: Our sessions are relaxed and enjoyable, ensuring you feel at ease in front of the camera. We guide you through poses and expressions to capture your best angles.

Flexible Scheduling: We offer flexible scheduling to accommodate your busy lifestyle. Whether you need an early morning shoot or a weekend session, we’re here to work around your availability.

Headshots in Byron Bay

Byron Bay is renowned for its breathtaking beaches, eclectic culture, and artistic vibe. It's the perfect setting for creative and professional headshots. Catch A Star offers tailored Headshots Byron Bay, ensuring you receive images that reflect your personality and professional aspirations. Here’s what makes our Byron Bay headshot sessions unique:

Artistic Approach: Byron Bay’s artistic and bohemian atmosphere inspires us to take a more creative approach to your headshots. We experiment with natural light, unique angles, and dynamic compositions to produce striking images.

Iconic Backdrops: From the iconic Cape Byron Lighthouse to the pristine beaches and vibrant street scenes, we utilize Byron Bay’s iconic locations to enhance your headshots.

Personal Connection: We believe that the best headshots come from a connection between the photographer and the subject. We take the time to get to know you, ensuring your headshots truly represent who you are.

Preparing for Your Headshot Session

To make the most of your headshot session in Tweed Heads or Byron Bay, it’s important to prepare adequately. Here are a few tips to ensure you’re ready for the camera:

Wardrobe Choices: Choose outfits that reflect your professional image. Solid colors and minimal patterns work best. Ensure your clothes are clean, pressed, and fit well.

Grooming: Pay attention to grooming details such as hair, makeup, and facial hair. A natural, polished look is ideal for headshots.

Rest and Hydrate: Get a good night’s sleep before your session and stay hydrated. This will help you look fresh and energized.

Practice Posing: Spend some time in front of a mirror experimenting with different expressions and poses. This can help you feel more confident during your session.

Conclusion

A professional headshot is an investment in your future. Whether you’re in Tweed Heads or Byron Bay, Catch A Star is here to help you capture your best self. Our expert photographers, stunning locations, and personalized approach ensure you receive headshots that make a lasting impression. Contact us today to schedule your session and take the first step towards elevating your professional image.

[estetraining]

Achieve Perfection: Best Lip Fillers Courses in Glasgow

Introduction

In recent years, Glasgow has emerged as a hub for aesthetic training, offering numerous opportunities for individuals aspiring to excel in the field of lip fillers. With an increasing demand for non-surgical cosmetic procedures, the pursuit of perfection in lip augmentation has become a focal point for many aspiring aestheticians. This article explores the best lip fillers courses available in Glasgow, highlighting what makes these courses stand out and how they can benefit aspiring professionals in the field.

Importance of Lip Fillers Courses

Lip fillers have gained immense popularity due to their ability to enhance facial aesthetics without invasive surgery. As such, mastering the art of lip augmentation requires not only technical skill but also a deep understanding of facial anatomy, product knowledge, and safe practices. Lip fillers courses provide comprehensive training that equips participants with the necessary skills and knowledge to deliver safe and effective treatments.

Comprehensive Curriculum

The best lip fillers courses in Glasgow offer a comprehensive curriculum that covers a range of essential topics. Participants typically learn about facial anatomy, particularly focusing on the lips and surrounding structures. Understanding the anatomy is crucial as it ensures practitioners can perform treatments safely and minimize risks.

Courses also delve into the various types of dermal fillers used for lip augmentation, their composition, and their application techniques. Participants are trained in different injection techniques tailored to achieve specific aesthetic outcomes, whether it's enhancing lip volume, defining lip borders, or correcting asymmetry.

Expert-Led Training

One distinguishing feature of the best lip fillers courses in Glasgow is the caliber of instructors. These courses are often led by experienced professionals who are experts in the field of aesthetic medicine. Their expertise not only enriches the learning experience but also provides invaluable insights into real-world practices and challenges.

Hands-On Experience

Practical experience is essential in mastering the art of lip fillers. The top courses in Glasgow emphasize hands-on training, allowing participants to practice their skills under the guidance of instructors. This practical component enables learners to develop confidence in performing procedures and enhances their ability to handle different patient scenarios.

Focus on Safety and Ethics

Safety is paramount in any cosmetic procedure. The best lip fillers courses in Glasgow prioritize safety by teaching participants about sterile techniques, infection control, and how to manage complications effectively. Moreover, ethical considerations, such as patient consultations, informed consent, and managing patient expectations, are also integral parts of the curriculum.

Networking Opportunities

Attending a lip fillers course in Glasgow not only provides education but also opens doors to networking opportunities within the aesthetic industry. Participants often interact with peers, instructors, and industry professionals, which can lead to collaborations, mentorship, and career advancement opportunities.

Conclusion

In conclusion, choosing the best lip fillers course in Glasgow can significantly impact an aesthetician's career trajectory. These courses offer a robust curriculum, expert-led training, hands-on experience, and a focus on safety and ethics—all crucial elements for achieving perfection in lip augmentation. Whether you're a newcomer to the field or an experienced practitioner looking to refine your skills, investing in a reputable lip fillers course in Glasgow is a step towards mastering the art and science of enhancing lip aesthetics.

By enrolling in such courses, aspiring professionals can not only acquire technical expertise but also gain the confidence and knowledge needed to excel in the competitive field of aesthetic medicine.

[prajadhav]

Best Diploma in Music Production Courses Online | AAFT Online

In today's fast-paced world, pursuing a career in music requires more than just talent; it demands a deep understanding of musical theory, technical skills, and industry insights. Whether you're an aspiring musician, producer, or music entrepreneur, a structured educational program can help you achieve your dreams. The Diploma in Music offered by AAFT Online is designed to provide a comprehensive and flexible learning experience that equips students with the skills needed to thrive in the music industry. Here's why this diploma stands out.

Why Pursue a Diploma in Music?

A diploma in music can open doors to various career opportunities, from performance and production to education and management. This qualification not only enhances your musical abilities but also provides a solid foundation in music theory, composition, technology, and business aspects of the music industry.

About AAFT Online

AAFT (Asian Academy of Film and Television) is a prestigious institution known for its innovative approach to arts and media education. With over 27 years of excellence, AAFT has expanded its reach through AAFT Online, offering high-quality, industry-relevant courses to students worldwide. The Diploma in Music is one of their standout programs, designed to cater to the diverse needs of the modern music landscape.

Key Features of AAFT Online's Diploma in Music

Comprehensive Curriculum: The course covers a wide range of topics, including music theory, composition, music production, sound engineering, and music business. This ensures that students gain a well-rounded education that prepares them for various roles in the music industry.

Experienced Faculty: Learn from accomplished musicians, producers, and industry professionals who bring a wealth of real-world experience to the classroom. Their mentorship and insights are invaluable for budding musicians.

Flexibility and Convenience: The online format allows students to study at their own pace and from any location. This flexibility is ideal for those balancing other commitments or working professionals looking to upskill.

Practical Training: AAFT Online emphasizes hands-on learning through practical assignments, projects, and collaborations. This approach ensures that students gain practical experience and can apply their knowledge in real-world scenarios.

State-of-the-Art Resources: Access to cutting-edge music production tools and software enables students to develop their technical skills and stay updated with industry standards.

Networking Opportunities: Engage with peers, faculty, and industry experts through webinars, workshops, and networking events. Building a professional network is crucial for career advancement in the music industry.

Certification: Graduates receive a globally recognized diploma, enhancing their resume and providing a competitive edge in the job market.

Course Structure

The Diploma in Music at AAFT Online is thoughtfully structured to provide a comprehensive learning experience. The course is divided into several modules, each focusing on different aspects of music:

Music Theory and Ear Training: Understanding the fundamentals of music, including scales, chords, harmony, and rhythm.

Composition and Songwriting: Techniques for writing and composing music across various genres.

Music Production and Technology: Introduction to music production software, recording techniques, mixing, and mastering.

Sound Engineering: Principles of sound design, acoustics, and live sound engineering.

Music Business and Entrepreneurship: Insights into the business side of music, including marketing, management, copyright, and monetization strategies.

Performance and Musicianship: Developing performance skills and stage presence for live and studio settings.

Success Stories

AAFT Online’s Diploma in Music has helped many students achieve remarkable success in their careers. Graduates have gone on to become successful musicians, producers, sound engineers, and music entrepreneurs, making significant contributions to the music industry.

How to Enroll

Enrolling in the Diploma in Music at AAFT Online is a straightforward process. Visit the AAFT Online website, navigate to the course page, and complete the application form. The admissions team will assist you through the process, ensuring a smooth and hassle-free enrollment experience.

Conclusion

Choosing to pursue a Diploma in Music with AAFT Online is a transformative step towards a rewarding career in the music industry. With a comprehensive curriculum, experienced faculty, flexible learning options, and a focus on practical training, this course provides everything you need to succeed as a music professional. Whether you’re starting your musical journey or looking to enhance your existing skills, AAFT Online’s Diploma in Music is an excellent investment in your future.

For more information and to enroll, visit the AAFT Online website.

By enrolling in AAFT Online's Diploma in Music, you're not just learning music; you're preparing to make your mark in the vibrant and dynamic world of the music industry.

[jahnvikhurana]

Capturing New York's Essence: A Spotlight on Dorothy Shi, the Headshot Photographer

New York City, known for its dynamic culture, towering skyscrapers, and vibrant arts scene, is also home to a thriving community of photographers. Among them stands out Dorothy Shi, a distinguished headshot photographer whose work captures the essence and individuality of her subjects in the bustling metropolis.

The Art of Headshot Photography

Headshot photography is a specialized art form. It goes beyond just taking a portrait; it’s about capturing the personality, professionalism, and essence of the individual. Whether for actors, corporate professionals, or social media influencers, a headshot is often the first impression one makes. It needs to convey confidence, approachability, and authenticity.

Who is Dorothyshi?

Dorothy Shi is not just a photographer; she is an artist who understands the nuances of human expression. With years of experience under her belt, Dorothy has carved out a niche in the competitive world of New York photography. Her journey began with a passion for capturing moments and evolved into a profession where she helps individuals put their best face forward.

The Studio Experience

Dorothy Shi’s studio is a sanctuary in the heart of New York City, designed to make clients feel comfortable and confident. From the moment one steps into her studio, they are greeted with a warm, inviting atmosphere. This environment is crucial for helping clients relax, which, in turn, allows their true personality to shine through in their photos.

Tailored Approach

What sets Dorothy apart is her tailored approach to each client. She takes the time to understand the individual’s needs, whether they are an actor looking to capture a range of emotions or a professional needing a polished, yet approachable image for LinkedIn. Dorothy's skill lies in her ability to bring out the unique qualities of each person, making every headshot a personalized work of art.

The Technical Mastery

Beyond her artistic vision, Dorothy is a master of the technical aspects of photography. She uses state-of-the-art equipment and stays updated with the latest techniques and trends in headshot photography. Her expertise ensures that the lighting, angles, and composition of each shot are perfect, highlighting the best features of her subjects.

Client Testimonials

Dorothy Shi's clients rave about their experiences and the results she delivers. Many highlight her professionalism, patience, and ability to make them feel at ease. The glowing testimonials are a testament to her skill and dedication to her craft.

"Working with Dorothy was a game-changer for my acting career. She captured a range of expressions that truly represent me. I couldn't be happier with the results," says Emily, an aspiring actress.

The Impact of a Great Headshot

In today’s digital world, a headshot is more important than ever. It’s not just for actors or models; professionals across all industries need a high-quality headshot for LinkedIn profiles, company websites, and social media. A great headshot can open doors, make connections, and leave a lasting impression.

Conclusion

Dorothy Shi has made a significant mark in the world of headshot photography in New York City. Her ability to blend technical expertise with artistic vision results in headshots that are not just pictures but powerful tools for personal and professional branding. In a city that never sleeps, where the competition is fierce, having a headshot by Dorothy Shi can be a defining factor in one’s success. Whether you’re an actor, a corporate professional, or simply someone looking to capture your best self, Dorothy Shi is the photographer to trust.

For more information on Dorothy Shi and her work, visit her website and explore the stunning portfolio that showcases her talent and dedication to the art of headshot photography. Click to know more

[picfac]

How to Become an Indian Male Model: A Comprehensive Guide

The modeling industry in India has seen a significant transformation over the years, offering numerous opportunities for aspiring male models. With the rise of fashion weeks, brand endorsements, and a growing interest in fashion and fitness, the demand for male models has never been higher. This guide provides a comprehensive overview of how to become a successful Indian male model, covering essential aspects such as fitness, grooming, portfolio creation, networking, and maintaining professionalism.

Understanding the Industry

The Best modeling agency in Delhi is highly competitive and dynamic. Understanding the nuances of this industry is the first step toward a successful career. The Indian modeling agency scene includes various segments such as fashion shows, print advertisements, television commercials, and digital media campaigns. Knowing where your strengths lie and which segment you want to focus on will help you tailor your approach.

Building the Right Physique

Fitness Regimen: Maintaining a fit and healthy body is crucial for male models. A balanced diet combined with a rigorous workout routine is essential. Focus on strength training, cardio, and flexibility exercises to achieve a well-toned physique.

Diet and Nutrition: A diet rich in proteins, vitamins, and minerals supports muscle growth and overall health. Avoid junk food and incorporate lean meats, fish, vegetables, fruits, and whole grains into your diet.

It's equally crucial to stay hydrated, so sip lots of water.

Grooming and Personal Care

Skincare: Healthy, clear skin is a must for models. Develop a skincare routine that includes cleansing, moisturizing, and protecting your skin from the sun. Regular facials and treatments can help maintain your skin’s health.

Hair Care: Well-groomed hair enhances your appearance. Find a hairstyle that suits your face shape and maintain it with regular trims. Use quality hair products to keep your hair healthy and styled.

Dental Care: A bright smile is a significant asset in modeling.

It's crucial to practice good oral hygiene and schedule routine dental exams.

Creating a Portfolio

Professional Photoshoots in delhi: Invest in a professional photoshoot to create a portfolio that showcases your versatility. Include portraits of the entire body, headshots, and multiple positions in diverse attire.

Variety of Looks: Your portfolio should display a range of looks – casual, formal, ethnic, and athletic. This variety will demonstrate your ability to adapt to different modeling requirements.

Comp Card: A comp card, or composite card, is a business card for models. It includes your best photos, basic stats (height, weight, measurements), and contact information. It’s a crucial tool for castings and auditions.

Networking and Building Contacts

Modeling Agencies in delhi: Signing up with a reputable modeling agency can open doors to numerous opportunities. Agencies have connections with designers, photographers, and brands, which can help you get noticed.

Fashion Events: Attend fashion shows, events, and exhibitions to network with industry professionals. Participating in such events increases your visibility and helps build relationships with key figures in the industry.

Social Media Presence: In the digital age, a strong social media presence can significantly boost your career. Use platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn to showcase your portfolio, connect with industry professionals, and stay updated on trends and opportunities.

Auditions and Castings

Preparation: Be well-prepared for auditions and castings. Understand the requirements and expectations of the role you are auditioning for. Practice poses, expressions, and walking styles.

Presentation: Dress appropriately for castings, often in simple, form-fitting clothes that show off your physique without being too flashy. Confidence and professionalism are key.

Persistence: Rejection is a part of the modeling industry. Stay persistent and keep auditioning. Each experience will help you learn and improve.

Professionalism and Work Ethics

Punctuality: Always be on time for appointments, best shoots in delhi, and meetings. Being on time demonstrates professionalism and regard for other people's time.

Attitude: Maintain a positive and respectful attitude towards everyone you work with, including photographers, stylists, and other models. Possibilities can multiply with a positive reputation.

Contracts and Legalities: Understand the terms and conditions of any contract you sign. If necessary, seek legal advice to ensure you are not being exploited.

Continuous Improvement and Staying Updated

Skill Development: Continuously work on improving your skills. Take modeling and acting classes, learn new poses, and keep your runway walk sharp.

Stay Informed: Keep up with the latest trends in fashion, grooming, and fitness. Being aware of what’s in vogue will help you stay relevant in the industry.

Feedback: A useful tool for development is constructive criticism. Seek feedback from industry professionals and work on areas of improvement.

Financial Management

Budgeting: Manage your finances wisely. Save a portion of your earnings and invest in your career, such as portfolio updates or additional training.

Job Diversification: Explore various modeling opportunities, from fashion shows to commercials. Diversifying your income streams can provide financial stability.

Conclusion

Becoming a successful Indian male model requires a combination of talent, dedication, and strategic planning. By focusing on fitness, grooming, portfolio creation, networking, and maintaining professionalism, you can carve a niche for yourself in the competitive modeling industry. Stay persistent, continually improve your skills, and embrace every opportunity to showcase your talent. With determination and hard work, you can achieve your dream of becoming a renowned male model in India.

To know more information kindly visit THE PICTURE FACTORY.