The image of me running in the rain, crossing dark streets in the middle of a big city, alone, and crying my heart out, couldn't be any more cliché. However, it was the perfect picture of what happened after I left Tia's house.

'I almost kissed a girl'. The thought of me being attracted to a woman was never a subject of attention, much less a conflict. It was just not a thing. I had boyfriends before and I was certainly attracted to them. Okay, I never had a long relationship that lasted more than a couple of months, still I believed the reason was simply that the right guy hadn't shown up yet.

The rain drops fell harder, as my emotions succumbed to despair. One side of me kept thinking about Tia's lips, or how she looked amazingly attractive when she laughed. The other half was judging my feelings, deducing that it wasn't more than the effect of my loneliness. I have been feeling apart from everything that made my world real: my friends and family, favorite places, familiar smells. New York was this big and cold reality, as if everyone got blended in its portrait of rushing faces.

'That's it. I'm just confused. All I need to do is get back on track, focusing on my music.'

Thinking about piano didn't make me feel better, simply because Tia's image was replaced with Professor Molina's stare. Her gaze on me, challenging my sanity to its limit, bending me until I break, defeated by her rudeness. 'I need to talk to her tomorrow and make her believe I deserve a chance . . . make her believe I can become a great musician'.

My clothes were dripping by the time I got to my apartment. A warm shower, some food, and water were all I needed before sleeping and saying goodbye to this insane day.

"Olivia?! What the fuck, girl. Are you okay?"

My roommate, Sandy, asked me as soon as I crossed her at the small living room, slash kitchen.

"As okay as I can get".

"That's vague." - She didn't seemed truly worried , scrolling down her phone's screen and sipping her drink. For that reason, I also ignored her presence and ran to the bathroom. After a long, warm shower, I was ready to eat.

"Here" - She said, handing me a warm bowl full of veggie soup. - "I saw you took it from the fridge, so I assume you were planning to have it as your dinner."

'Since when does she pay attention to something other than her phone?' I thought to myself, surprised by her gesture, and really thankful.

"Thank you, Sandy. By the way, where is everyone? Are you alone?"

"Andrew has been out since earlier today, and Julio is probably drunk on some corner in Brooklyn."

All of them have been living together for two years. With their own dynamic already established, it seems hard for me to blow their bubble and find my own space in the circle. Since day one, I decided to stay in my own room, avoiding their presence, and opting for my own dramas.

"Y' know, it can be hard moving to New York." - Her hand was laid resting on the back of her neck, while her eyes focused on the floor. 'Is Sandy uncomfortable? or even maybe shy?' I couldn't believe it, especially after our recent interactions where she dressed up as this rock star figure, busy enough to avoid any small talk. She continued, speaking with a quiet voice. "So, if you need to talk, I am here".

'Cute'. The moment that word crossed my mind, I shut it off. I already had enough with all these weird feelings, and I can't afford another crush . . . on a girl.

"Thank you, Sandy. It hasn't been easy. Beside that, I love NYU, it is just harder than I imagined, and I'm scared of losing my scholarship."

Suddenly, I was spilling my heart out to this almost-stranger girl, holding a bowl of soup in one hand, resting my body against the room's door. "This professor hates me . . . I feel like I don't know myself anymore. And the subways is always so crowded . . . the food doesn't taste that good either. . . no one seems to notice me in college, it's pretty lonely. And you guys looks like best friends, while barely giving me a chance to connect with you."

It felt good to say it all out loud. Maybe it was easier to talk with someone whose opinion I didn't care about, or if they were going to judge me. All the heaviness of expectation wasn't there, was almost like talking to a mirror. Sandy eyes got wide, her body stiffenedas she was observing the moment from afar, waiting for any weird truth to break out of me and threaten our existence. Honestly, I wasn't expecting a thing from her, the sound of my thoughts materialized in words already achieved the goal of releasing my tension.

Sandy smiled, confused. Her lips made a strange movement when the left corner of her lips lifts up in realization of a truth and a "hum" sound escapes.

"Next Friday we are planning on going to this new bar on the 8th street. Julio is really excited, some of his friends are going to play that night". - She said while walking back to the living room, throwing herself on the couch. 'What is wrong with people in New York?' I thought to myself. 'They are against inviting people, clearly? Or they just assumed you understand what they are saying?'

"Are you inviting me?" - I said almost angry about all this conversation reminding me of Tia.

"Isn't it obvious?" - Sandy said, facing her phone. I didn't know if she was back to ignoring me or if it was just her weird personality calling out my uncomfortable self.

"I will think about it." - I said looking at her and the veggie soup, smiling at this crazy, unexpected night.

- We are leaving at 9 pm. - She yelled while I was closing my door.

____________________x__________________

My night was horrible. Nightmares populated my dreams with confusing images of Tia's eyes seeking me on a deserted street, followed by Professor Molina's gaze judging me while I played one of my grandpa's composition.

I was miserable the next morning. My face was smashed, with red eyes, dry lips, and messy hair locked in huge knots. My heart was buried in my sheets, dreaming of warm soft sheets, me disappearing from life, cuddling a huge pillow . I could stay in bed the whole day, but my alarm thought otherwise. I forced my legs to move out of blankets, accompanied by heavy arms bouncing in the air in their own cursing dialect

"Girl! Do you need some type of intervention? Just tell me because I have a busy week, but . . . I can disappear easily until all this (she moved her hands all over me, as if drawing my curves in the air) is over." - Sandy was holding a spatula in her right hand, hitting it against my shoulder, softly.

"HA HA HA. You are all so funny and spirituous, joking about others misery." - I took a cup of coffee while checking the time. Today, against all the odds, I was confident that I would make it on time to Professor Molina's class and have the talk.

"Since when you cook?" I asked Sandy on my way out of the kitchen, realizing she was standing by the stove.

Her eyes rolled up at me.

"I am a Culinary student Olivia".

"Wait. WHAT? Since When?" - I almost choked on my coffee, burning my tongue by surprise.

"Hum...." - Her expression was serious, as if she was trying to remember a really important piece of information. "I'm a Junior and I am 24. I had some bumps in the road and decided to go to college later. But I have been a cooker since my mom's belly, you can ask her. Does that answer your questions?" She had a smirk on her lips and a confident look in her eyes.

-"I thought . .. I don't know... You were studying literature, maybe arts, or design... You look... hum... different ... I mean your clothes, dark makeup, chains all over you pants, the tattoos and piercings".

"So you were checking me out all this time. I am flattered." - She brought her left hand over her chest, pretending to be touched. - "You shouldn't judge the book by its cover. And who said chefs have a standard dress code? I didn't received the memorandum, anyway."

"Yeah! I am figuring that out, recently. Apparently I do that a lot. I am sorry, Sandy."

Life was not as I thought, but how much did I actually know about it? The small town of Alpine was my starting point, even loving it, I need to assume it has its own limitations when compared to all the diversity outside my small bubble. The recent events turned my life upside down, destroying the floor below my feet, creating a feeling of fluctuation - which was not pleasant.

In additionto that, it made me feel tense, insecure of my own thoughts as if now it all could be terribly wrong. I feared the worst would happen, since I lost my sense of right or wrong. I was unable to relax, sleep, or even trust myself. At the same time, it expanded my vision about people and situations, teaching me how to be more relativist.

I tried to keep this positivity on my mind as I made my way to Professor Molina's class. 'I will deal with one problem at time. That's it! Today, Professor Molina. Tomorrow, or next week... maybe next month? . . . Tia' I thought while being smashed between a tall man and a grumpy lady on the subway. Finally, I made it to my station, only a 10 minute walk from my morning class, which meant I would be on time, even earlier, if I decided to go straight.

'Should I?' Maybe I could talk to her even before the class starts and get it over with. It would be better than sitting the entire class with this knot in my throat. I decided, 'let's face it now'.

My confidence was slowly drained as I approached the classroom. My heart started dancing in my chest, with a painful ache in my heart. It didn't matter all the deep breaths or mental exercises, I was freaking out. I wish I could run, hide on a plane back to Arizona and forget all about New York and its people. But I couldn't, piano was everything I could do with my life and giving up left me with alternatives I hate.

As soon as I opened the door, Professor Molina's eyes met mine. The room was completely empty, but the tension in the air filled up all the space between us. I could feel she was avoiding me when she started unpacking her bag, putting her notes on the table and giving me her back while she began writing on the whiteboard. Words populated my mind while I tried to decided what should I say first.

'Professor Molina, good morning'. No, horrible. Let's try again. 'Excuse me, Ms. I want to' For God sake, no!.

I looked at my phone and I had 20 minutes before other students started popping in to the class. If I was going to do it, I needed to do now, or just give up. Leaving my backpack on the chair, I took a deep breath and started walking in her direction, with both my hands tight together, rubbing each other. The sound of my steps startled her,who turned to face me.

Her long dark wavy hair was in a ponytail today. Maybe the factthat she was using more comfortable jeans and a silk blue long sleeved shirt made me less scared of her than when she was using the "business" executive style. I attempted a smile, hoping to break the tension and start our conversation, but I was betrayed by my own stupidity. Instead, a weird noise left my lips, as if an animal took over my body. Shocked, I brought both hands tomy mouth, as if I could go back in time and erase that humiliation.

"Are you kidding me" I said out loud, uncapable of controlling my own brain, mouth, voice.... anything. I was a complete disaster. My plan of creating a better impression on Professor Molina had ended even before I tried. I was condemned to her disappointment.

A hard laugh broke the rigid air around us. I lifted my eyes from the floor to see Professor Molina throwing her head back, with one of her hands resting on her stomach, laughing hard at me. If I could have put my head in a hole, I would. The sound of her laugh started to be contagious and suddenly I was also laughing at myself.

Her expression was so soft that I had a chance to observe her face while calm. I found myself enjoying looking at her, as if she were a book on a shelf, and I was still deciding if I should read it or not. That moment I could realize she had voluminous dark eyelashes. It made her look so elegant, yet lovely. She shook her head in a failed attempt of recovering her composure, reorganizing her shirt and putting away the blue marker from her hand.

Her amber eyes laid on my green eyes, staying there for seconds as she seemed toalso bedeciding if she liked the book on the shelf.

- Meeting you is never a boring moment, I will give you that Ms. Harding. - A low, modulated voice, left her lips arising a desire in me to lean closer to her. 'Olivia!' I yelled mentally at myself, desperate for a chance of controlling my crazy, recent instincts.

"I am so sorry. I don't know what is happening to me recently." - Those words ended up sounding more brittle than I expected, inducing her left eyebrow to rise in worry. I continued: - "It hasbeen killing me the way I behaved in your last class."

"And why is that?" - She said, tilting her head and softly smiling at me. Her reaction broke all the fear I had been building up the past days, and for a moment, I felt that, maybe, I could actually talk to her.

"Being a pianist is really important to me and I want you to know I will do everything I can to make it happen. I don't want you to think I don't care about your class, or your time. All the students are eager for your approval . . . and . . . I am not different". - I concluded after some silence.

I couldn't bring myself to look at her face again. Opening my heart to strangers, even being recently an apparent common reality for me, takes a lot of courage.

"Ms. Harding, I don't care. I am sorry to say that, but your dreams don't matter to me, as your teacher." She touched my shoulder briefly while she made her way to sit on her chair. She pointed to the other one in front of her desk, inviting me to sit. I was in shock, repeating the words 'I don't care' over and over, feeling worse than when I sounded like a pig.

With a deep breath, she continued.

"It makes me really sad to know how my students feel about me. You said they want my approval? So I ask you.... what good it will be for them? Hum . . . can you answer me?"

I tried to put myself together, but it felt like an oral exam I was about to fail.

-"You are an important pianist. Your approval would mean we have a chance to actually succeed."

She sighed.

"My approval would only inflate your ego, since everyone thinks of me as this stiff professor. Your dreams do not matter to me because if I cared about each student's feelings I would not be able to do my job. Only a small percentage of talented pianists succeed, and that does not mean that the ones that were cut didn't have talent. It is not an exact math, but a group of characteristics besides playing well, and it is abstract.

I was confused and she noticed I couldn't follow her.

"Ms. Harding". - She inclined inmy direction, resting both of her elbows on the table. - "I want to be respected, because I put a lot of effort intoteaching you all and I do the best I can to help. That's why I hate when my time is not valued by others. You wasted not only mine, but your classmates time when you were late and confrontedme.

"I . . "- I tried to explain, but she cut me offand continued talking.

"If you want to be a musician, you will need to change you attitude. Nobody here will care if you are trying your best. They will respect it, but it will only bring you so far. If you are chasing approval, comprehension, care, I will tell you right now to give up and return home. If you get hurt every time I am harsh to you, your year will be miserable. I am not even the most strict professor that will cross your path. If you think the orchestra will be easier, you are delusional."

I couldn't hold my tears in front of such unexpected words and how it made me feel so insecure, among others feelings. Unsure of the reason behind them, I felt that everything has been just too much to handle and I hate how messed up it all was. While my tears fell over my face, Professor Molina clenched her jaw and gazed directly downward.

"Ms. Harding"- She raised her hand on my direction, holding my hand. The last thing I needed was her pity. I got up, cleaned my face, and looked directly at her eyes. Hurt by her words, and confused by her sorry expression, I said the only truth that still stood on my heart.

"You are probably right, and I appreciate your brutal honesty. Since day one this city has been showing me how immature I am, and our conversation just sealed all this. But I can't give up. According to you, it does not matter if we are good or not, at the end only a few will make it to be a musician. But some of us will, right? Even if small, I still have a chance. Correct?"

"Technically, yes." - She said with a curious look on her face.

"Can you teach me all the abstracts facts all companies looks for in a musician? Can you help me to become a musician and really have a shot out there?"

"It isn't something you can learn, you need to be born with it. I can teach you techniques, sharpen your performance. But it isn't enough."

"Bullshit". - I could feel my red face burning, pressing my lips firmly together. - "That would mean destiny or fate exists and we can't change it. What would be the point of you teaching us if you truly believed in that? What would be the point studying or trying hard? If it isn't enough, what is?"

Professor Molina seemed to be considering my words. Her pupils were dilated, making eye contact with me. Pressing her index finger to her cheek and propping her chin on the rest of her clenched fingers, professor said:

"Do you know how many talented people never get a chance to show the world their music, while others, not even with half of their talent, become stars? Why do you think it happens, Ms. Harding? I don't know how talented you are, and I don't even care. It is not my responsibility to care. It is up to me to sharpen what you already know, show you how to improve. Besides that, if you fail, get hurt, give up, itis not my business."

She sounded profoundly honest, but I couldn't accept it. If I did, it would mean I had a chance to finish NYU and return to Alpine, as a failed musician, and a bag full of frustration. Even if deep on in me I understood her words, my heart needed to challenge it and prove she was wrong. I knew if I tried hard, I could be whatever I wanted.

"Bianca." - I said, dropping all the 'professor' or miss. - "My grandpa was the most amazing person I ever met. He was not only a pianist, but an intellectual. He was always suggesting me books to read or teaching me about history. One day he told me about Maya Angelou and her fight for civil rights. One of her phrases, quoted by my grandpa, stayed with me. 'Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better'. There is no such a thing as limitation, if we are willing to pay the price to be better."

Her mouth was half opened and she had moist eyes.