Chapter 144. Practice

Tristan's POV

The weight of the mahogany doors groaned behind me as I stepped into the grand auditorium, the air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of polished wood and old velvet. The spotlights were dimmed, casting a low, amber glow over the stage where the orchestra was already gathering, and tuning their instruments. Soft murmurs bounced off the arched ceiling, and the occasional note from a violin or wind instrument lilted through the hush like a ghost searching for its place in the melody.

My eyes were instantly drawn to the piano that was situated center stage. A polished black Steinway, its lid lifted like an open mouth mid-aria. It glistened beneath the house lights, waiting for my hands, waiting for the story my fingers had yet to tell. I moved towards it slowly, the echo of my footsteps mingling with the soft clatter of bows and instrument cases.