She knew that in that moment, they were one. Joined by the most important thing in the world, music. He was there, she was there, and that's all that really mattered.

This story may be common, ordinary, frequent, regular, conventional and if you can think of any other synonyms, those. And frankly, I don't care. This story is love. And music. And so many other things. And that is all you really need to know.

Three things before I start my tale:

1.The piano

2.The supermarket

3.and The dream

All it took was three. Three chances, three meetings, three strange and wonderful coincidences. No one saw it coming. They surely didn't. And yet, no one was surprised. It was as if no one cared, or if they did, they probably thought of it as fate or something of that sort. Now let me begin.

Number One: The Piano

It was simple. He had told. He threw a party to try and make it up. They went, but only to beat him to death. Okay, maybe almost death. Heck, he only sustained a couple of bruises and a wound (a very painful one, but still, just a wound) to the head. The ingredients: his house, a ton of people form school (most of whom he didn't know), a bunch of angry jocks, his furious father, some policemen, him, a girl, and the piano.

They had just started the beating when the coach came in. Football (I prefer this over soccer, so yes, when I say football, I mean soccer) was his game, and The Sergeant was his name. Everyone called him that at school. His son started it. That boy was his pride and joy. The Sergeant wouldn't let anything happen to his boy. So, as soon as he entered his own house, and seeing his own kid getting beaten up, The Sergeant exploded. Grabbing the boys one by one, he pulled them off his son. Soon after shouting his head off, he called the police. Everyone was staring at the boy. Mr. Popular, all beaten up, so helpless. The Sergeant coated the boy in ice, and set him by the piano. That's when the cops came. All the kids were slowly leaving. After all, no one wanted to hear The Sergeant bellowing at his students.

It was hard for him to get all the ice off. He had gotten bruised up before. That was normal. It was only the gash on his head that hurt. Hobbling to the piano, ice pack in hand, he sat and started pounding away at the keys.

She had seen everything.

She wasn't a nobody, but she wasn't popular either. A normal girl, you would say. Oh but her music, her music! A sweet symphony of everything wonderful would emanate from anything she'd play. The piano was her favourite. She could play all day, without eating. Music was an essential. She lived it, breathed it,

He was there. She was there. It felt right to go over and to comfort him. Right?

She approached him.

Slowly. Oh so slowly.

She sat. Beside him. He continued to pound away. And you know what she did?



For what seemed like decades he said nothing. And it was killing her. Being so near a gorgeous piano. Ugh. Her fingers longed the soft feel of those ivory keys.

So she touched them.

He didn't flinch.

She played the right hand part of The Minuet for five times. By the second time he had stopped pounding. By the fourth time he joined in with the left hand part.

She stopped by the fifth. He was playing. The piano.


"I used to be able to play."

He was talking to her.

""Used to?"

"Yeah. I guess I just...stopped."

"Stopped? Why? Soccer? You lost interest? Did you run out of time?"

"I don't know. I just stopped. One day I was playing and the next, I wasn't."

She didn't know what to say. No one can just stop. As quiet as their conversation was, the next few moments were even quieter.

Silence. Again. If I had a penny for each time I said this word...

"Play me something. Please."

No more words needed, she did. And he joined in. Reluctantly, he played each note with a vague memory of the piece.

"Moonlight Sonata."

"Yup. You actually know it. You do remember your old pieces."

"I guess."

"You know, no one ever forgets to play. Once you start, no matter how long you don't, you'll never stop. Never."

They finished the piece. But instead of silence once more (thank God!), words were uttered.

"Another one?"

"Why not."

This went on for the rest of the night. A gazillion more "another ones" and a couple of pieces later, she was picked up by her parents. Only two words were said.



Number Two: The Supermarket

Her parents were buying some groceries. She was at her usual old place.

I shall explain first.

In the local supermarket, there was a music section. Now that may seem strange, a music shop in the supermarket, but what is even stranger, is where the music shop was. It was beside the fish. If you were at the seafood section, and you turned right, there would be a small, glass-windowed store, filled with all those music-ey stuff.

She loved that place.

She never really liked the grocery. When she was 12, and her parents were buying some salmon, she stumbled upon the store.

Then magic. Music was her magic.

So every Sunday (that was their grocery day), she would buy two music sheets and occasionally, a CD.

So there. It was a Sunday, and she was picking out pieces.

While sifting through the contemporary section, two feet stepped into the store.

He was there.

He didn't see her right away, but when her did, he braced himself.

He strolled over casually. He was used to talking to girls. But when he reached her side, his stomach lurched.

Oh no.

He kept quiet. She, on the other hand, being in sort of second home, spoke.


"Hey yourself."

"I didn't know you went here. I thought I was the only one who knew this place."

"My friend works here. Not here, here, but around the poultry section."

"When did you find out?"

"I asked him for a good music place. After the night I got beaten up."

"After we played?"

"Yeah, after we played."

"You were 'inspired'?"

"I guess." He shuffled his feet. "I just wanted to play again."

"No harm in that."

He lightened up.

"You know any good pieces?"

"Pieces? Already?"

"My mom said that I should just keep on practicing. I haven't completely forgot, you know."

"Oh. Uh, sorry."

She hated herself! She was being so boring!


She stayed quiet He didn't.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"I'm failing Trig."

They laugh.

"Yeah, well, me too. C'mon, I need something more! I know nothing about you!"

"And I know everything about you."

"I guess my life's pretty public huh?"

"You're Mr. Popular! I think it comes with the title."

They laugh once more. But his time, they don't know why.

Then silence. A good kind.

With a smile, she flips through the CDs.

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

She looks at him. What is he talking about? His voice was hard. Unfeeling. She decided to play along.

"What did you do?"

"You know, that Friday. What they did. I told on 'em."

"Oh. That."

She looked down.

He sighed.

"She was your friend wasn't she?"


"I'm sorry. I—"

He paused. He looked at her. She was glaring at the CDs. She said something through her teeth.

Then another thing. This time not through her teeth.

"She didn't die. You don't have to be sorry."

"But she was hurt. Bad. And they did it."

"Why can't you say their names?"

It was his turn to glare at the CDs.

"They were my best players."

"And you told."

"Then the cops came and they went to jail."

"For raping my friend."

"Who is now in a hospital undergoing psychological help."

"And after, to try and forget about it, I threw a party."

"Your other teammates were mad."

"Because I got rid of the best guys on the team. And we were going to the finals."

"So they beat you up."

She looked up. Their eyes met.

"And we played the piano."

"And now we're here."

"At the supermarket."

"Beside the fish."

They laughed at what he said. It was true, they were indeed beside the fish.

"How 'bout these?" He hands her two random pieces.

"These?" She chuckles.

"Yeah, those. Try 'em out."

" Apologise and Bad Day?"

"Why not?"



"I learned them ages ago."


They laugh once more.

Then his cellphone rings.

"My parents."


"Yeah, well, I'll be seeing you soon."

"Me too."



Number Three: The Dream

They were in a huge white room. Or at least it looked like a huge white room

In their PJs.

It was a dream.

But why was she there? And why was he there?

Why were they the only one's there?

He was on one end, she was on the other.

There was music in the background. No pattern. No specific genre. Just music. From classical, sometimes it would change to rock, form pop, it would go to R'n'B.

Then they were running. Towards each other. Neither knew what was going on. All they knew was that there was another person at the other end of the room. And that they needed to get to that person.

When they were only several meters away, they realized who they were running towards.

It was him.

It was her.

It was relieving. They knew who they were running to.

He gently grabbed her wrist.

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Now, a side note. The two could talk. They just chose not to. Each had profound respect for music. In there, they couldn't bring themselves to interrupt it. As much as they wanted to say something, they couldn't. The music was oddly overwhelming.

So they sat.

His hand was still on her wrist.

Occasionally looking up at the ceiling, the two listened.

She got tired.

She laid her head on his shoulder.

His legs got tired.

He stretched and touched her foot with his.

But still no words.

And it was fine. Just them...and the music.

Then it stopped.

Their hands were intertwined.

They did nothing. They didn't find it the least bit awkward. Then she spoke.

"Why you?"


"I mean, of all the people I could sit here and listen with, it had to be you"

"Music. That's why."

"So you think music did this?"

"Heck no. We did this."

"We did this? So, I chose you?"

"And I chose you. Okay, so I don't know! It's just—"

"We shared one common love. And we chose to share it in this dream."


Silence. Thoughts filled their heads.

"Are you glad?"


"That you found music again?"

He smiles. She smiles back.

"Thanks to you. If you hadn't played that piano, I'd still be depressed."

"Well, your welcome." She smirked. "So, do we just sit here?"

"We can lie down."


Hands still together, they lean back and eventually their backs touch the floor.

The move closer.

Her head resumed its position on his shoulder.

They close their eyes.

The music began. Again.

"See you in the morning."

"See you too."

Then the dream was over.

ANOkay, so this isn't the end. There are two possible endings, 'casue I couldn't decide on which I liked better. So click that next chap button. Thanks! Don't forget to R&R!AN