"How was your day?" Tia asked me, uncomfortably looking away while her right fingers rested on the back of her neck. We had been , each avoiding words that could have different meanings than the ones in our hearts.

Until this morning, the memory of kissing Tia was like a mirage, a dream that never materialized into the real world. A part of my subconscious tried to convince me it was nothing more than a portrait, a beautiful painting created by talented hands, but not mine. It wasn't my experience, buttranscendent to allrealities. Evenfighting against the time to keep it all as an untouchable vision, her wood perfume, warm breath, soft skin, were too real for me to ignore. The fact that I could feel her with all my senses was too scarily tangible, as if the universe invited me to touch the stars on one of the darkest nights.

"Tia", I murmured, as if the sound of her name would bring us even closer and I couldn't let it. She looked at me, her eyes were full of hope, waiting for a sign of retribution or interest. She exuded expectation, and I couldn't, or didn't know, how to reach such anticipation. 'What should I say? Which words would be enough to describe my confusion, doubts, questions? Would she understand?' I thought with myself.

"Olivia" Her warm voice whispered. "For a while, I have been taking care of myself. Avoiding situations and feelings, that would give me even the slightest chance of being hurt. So far, I can say I have succeeded. Moving to New York was one of the easiest decisions of my life, but continuing to believe in me, o n my music, that is the hardest. I go out there every night; I play on crowed streets, to strangers passing by so quickly that I wonder if they even listen. But I keep believing that one of these nights someone will listen, and just like that, I will have an actual chance of living off my music."

Her eyes were so bright, focusing on a future that was not yet real, but full of possibilities. Her dreams reminded me of mine, and looking how hopeful she felt, my own heart warmed. I couldn't avoid also feeling jealous of her perseverance in believing her dreams for so long, while I have been doubting mine every second.

"How can you believe it will happen?" I sighed. "New York is a scary place, and I feel so vulnerable . . . almost insignificant. Everyone else looks so much more capable than I am, more talented, more balanced, more established, while I feel lost, like a failure . . . a person full of flaws and insecurities. I don't know . . . I wonder if I made the right decision moving here, dreaming of becoming a pianist." I smiled, feeling as tears would like to fall from my eyes and roll down my cold face, but I held them.

We stayed in silence, admiring the empty campus and its peace.

"My mom, she never believed in herself." Tia said, while smiling to me with her sweet eyes that hid a layer of sadness. "I remember one morning, we were in the kitchen eating breakfast before school, and she looked so tired. I tried to make her feel better. I start telling her some stupid jokes, but her laugh was superficial, it just made me feel worse. I asked her if she was happy . . . do you know what she told me? " Tia rhetorically asked me, looking into my eyes, she continued: "She always dreamed of opening a flower shop. Waking up every morning, putting her hands on earth, seeing flowers growing, helping people to connect with them. But she couldn't go against her dad's expectations. We come from a family of doctors and Mister Jones 'would never allow our name to fall on insignificance." She said, imitating a grave tone that I assumed was her grandpa.

The tears once in my eyes, were now falling from Tia's. I stayed in silence, listening to every word as a poem from her heart. Even though I didn't know Tia well, I could feel it wasn't common for her to open up old memories and feelings to others. Something inside me asked for my quietude, letting the space between us be filled with unsaid sounds or gestures.

"She is a successful surgeon, but all she wanted was to be a florist." Tia's sad laugh broken my heart and I never felt such empathy before. "It isn't about if you are talented or not, Olivia. Is about trying, allowing yourself to make mistakes, to fail. It is about looking inside of you and knowing you are trying your best, even if everything else tells you are wrong. My mom never tried to fight for herself, she just let life, or other people's opinions, guide her. She is a fucking surgeon! It isn't easy . . . but for her, that was the easiest path."

How complicated our hearts are. What is a dream for some, becomes a nightmare for others. Listening to Tia, I could understand how precarious our truths are. At the end, it all depends on circumstances, stories, emotions. I wish we could come to this world with a recipe, a guide for our decisions, but at the same time, what would be the fun of that? On the conscious ocean of desires, only my dreams remained floating.

"What is simple for you, can be a cause of anxiety to others." I said, no longer talking only about our dreams. My words sounded more appealing than I desired. It would be a lie, for both of us, if we pretended our kiss never happened, or that it wasn't wafting in the air waiting to be noticed.

"Is that what our kiss meant to you?" She stayed tight-lipped, looking at me from the corner of her eyes. The white elephant was now too big to be ignored, and I knew she deserved my honesty, and I wanted to give her that.

"I had never kissed a woman before " I said, reluctantly.

Tia laughed. "That's what I figure". My confused eyes probably scared her, because following my reaction she said: "I mean, not that you were a bad kisser . . . Actually, it was really good . . . What I am trying to say is that judging by your reaction, I knew that was your first time!"

The way she mumbled, scared of being misunderstood, was one of the cutest expressions I witnessed in life. How her eyes avoided me, but couldn't completely lose sight of my face, gave me chills. Even not touching me, I couldn't ignore her powerful energy pulling me closer, as if our souls wanted to be entangled. Her small dimples when she smiled, or her beautiful dark skin, everything about her was addicting to me.

I got a deep breath, trying to concentrate and put my thoughts in order.

"Kissing a woman was never a thought, a question, or a desire. I never felt attracted to a girl . . . I have had relationships in the past, with men, and I was happy . . . Honestly, Tia. I don't know what to say to you. You seem like an amazing person; I would love to be your friend. You are so talented, honest, hardworking, beautiful. . . but"

"You think I am beautiful. Interesting. Tell me more about it" Tia pursed her lips in a self-satisfied smirk.

I rolled my eyes, hitting her softly with my left shoulder.

"I am pretty sure you have mirrors at home, and I wasn't the first person to tell you that"

"Is not about me, or other people, knowing I am beautiful. It's about you seeing me like that."

She held my hand, in an abrupt act of courage. "Olivia, I understand you are confused. When I decided to come to see you, I promised myself I wasn't going to force you to do anything you are not comfortable with. But I can't believe our kiss was a one-side platonic moment. You kissed me back, and I know you felt something. If you need more time to process that and what it means to you, I totally understand. I just want to be by your side . . . I want to know you better."

The implications of her words threw me to a world of possibilities.

"So, are you saying you would be fine with us being friends?"

With regretful eyes, and an open smile, Tia couldn't disguise her disappointment with the idea of not holding me on her arms. In contrast, my excitement of having her on my life was clear.

"I will not lie to you, Olivia. I can't be your friend. I will stay as your friend while you are trying to understand your feelings, but I want you to know I will be waiting for your final answer . . . I am not saying this to pressure you, I am just trying to also take care of myself. If in the end you can't give us a chance, I beg you to not lie to me and just tell me the truth. Can you do that for me?"

"Just considering a possibility of 'us' is hard for me, Tia. I have so many questions, with zero clarity of how to find my answers. If you ask me if I like our kiss, I will not lie. I did feel something, but that is the problem. I don't know what that means to me, or how to name that emotion. When I saw you in the hallway, waiting for me, I felt panic, as if two different worlds were colliding, changing everything, forever. It all seemed so permanent, each decision carries so much weight. I don't want to make you wait for me; I can't promise anything. You were honest to me, so it is only fair that I do the same for you. I am so sorry to not be able to say what you want to hear. I wish I . . . I wish I could . . ."

The tears imprisoned on my heart were finally set free, carrying with them all the heaviness of my pain. It was not only about kissing a stranger, a woman, but how it made me feel and the implications of that for my life. It wasn't about Tia, but how my body reacted to her presence. It was all me, every particle of who I am, or thought I was. All the mixed feelings, and unanswered questions, the secrets. It was all about what I couldn't conceive, still hidden on the labyrinth of my unconscious.

Lost in my own reverie, the enchantment was broken by her soft, warm skin holding me tightly. She pressed me against her chest, our bodies twisted in a moment of solitude. We didn't need words, much less explanations. As if we were projected in the air, our souls knew what our bodies couldn't say, and in silence we remained.

I can't say for how long I stayed in her arms, my head resting on her chest, while her head rested on mine. But, as everything in life, the flow invited us to move, and moving we started to return to our reality.

"If that is what you need, I will be your friend" Tia whispered on my ear, still resting her head on mine. 'Am I being selfish?' was my first thought, still with our bodies close.

"Thank you" I kissed her cheek, to which she reciprocateswith an affectionate smile.

__________________x________________

Throughout my week, I spent most of my time preparing for my next meeting with professor Molina. Any free time I had between classes or training, I was sitting on my piano deciding what I should play to her. A proud feeling grew on my heart every time the memory of her surprised eyes and involuntary silence popped into my head. I enjoyed the idea of affecting her emotions, her idea about me or the way she sees me. Professor Molina was always so sure of everything, never doubting her conclusions about me, that seeing her amazed by me made me feel powerful.

"Hey farm girl. Are you ready for Friday night?" Julio stole my Oreo, while throwing himself onto the couch. He, as well as half of my class, were convinced that I grew up raising cows, regardless of what I tried to say.

"Friday? What is happening Friday?"

"Sandy!" He yelled across the apartment. "I told you she would have forgotten about Friday. You owe me my five bucks!" Julio has this weird habit of sticking out his tongue when he was right, or when he said something funny/stupid. Sandy joined us in disbelief, handing him the money while looking at me with her eyebrows lowered and pulled close together.

"Olivia! I told you about the band . . . remember? We are all going, including you. NO EXCUSES!" Her fingers were pressing my cheek while she reinforced her last words, as if that gesture was making a point.

"I totally forgot. But I can't go, I have this training with my professor, and I am DEFINETELY not canceling on her". I repeated her gesture, leaving her face red , making me wonder if she was really upset with me.

"I am sorry Sandy. My professor is the one scheduling the meeting, is not like I have a say. She is already giving me free extra classes . . . "

"Whatever" Julio concluded. "We are going to celebrate your birthday Sandy, in great style". He jumped on her, hugging her tightly.

"Wait, you didn't told me it was your birthday Sandy, c'mon" - She walked away as I lifted my arms to hug her, leaving me alone with Julio.

"She gets emotional on her birthday. You should see it as a compliment, seems like she cares about you. Well, I am leaving . . . bye farm girl".

" I am not . . . urgh.... forget it ". I gave up on Julio, making my way to Sandy's door. I knocked a few times, but she insisted on ignoring me. We had been getting close the last couple of days, having breakfast together, or listening crime podcast at night. I could say she has become a good friend, for that reason, I hate the idea of hurting her.

"Sandy! You know how important my piano practices are for me. You also know how Professor Molina's help is essential if I want to have a chance in the fall competition. I didn't know it was your birthday, how was I supposed to know if nobody told me?" My voice sounded mellow, in an attempt of winning her over by being endearing. Her door handle moved, and soon I could see her upset face. She was standing at her room's door, arms crossed against her chest, eyes facing the floor.

I approach her slowly, holding her hands, trying to make her posture more open to me.

"Sandy. Tell me the real reason. Why are you upset?" Without facing me, she made a first attempt, but she failed. "Hey, you can tell me anything. Trust me". She took a deep breath, freeing her hands from mine while sitting on her bed. I followed her, both of us sitting at the edge of her mattress.

"I know it could sound childish. But I have a hard time building friendships with girls. I was always like that. They seemed intimidated by me, while I am by them. I do treat this in therapy, believe me. It was always easier for me to have male friends. I thought our friendship was growing, you know" Her face was blushed, and I knew that was not a comfortable conversation for her.

"We are. I am sorry if I made you feel devalued. I am happy to know you like me this much" I joked, in an attempt to make her relax, which seemed to work. "I want to celebrate your birthday. I can try to talk to Professor Molina, I can't promise anything. BUT, we will definitely celebrate Saturday. What do you say?"

"God! Sorry Olivia, I sound like a teenager. I think it all just hit me in a really sensitive spot. Of course we can! That will be great" We hugged, and laying on her bed, we decided to finish the latest episode of our favorite podcast, falling asleep to the sound of horrifying cold-case stories.

__________________x____________

The next morning, I woke up certain that I was going to talk to Professor Molina, to possibly reschedule our meeting on Friday. Since I moved to New York, more and more I have noticed the value behind friendships. In my darkest moments, people who cared about me where the one holding my hands and listening to my lamentations. Being a pianist was the most important thing for me, but it would mean nothing if I was alone.

However, talking to Professor Molina always put me in a nerve-racking ordeal. Even trying to convince myself, and her, that I didn't care about her opinion, I did care more than I would accept. Admitting that her personality had gotten to me was not something I was ready to do. Our last meeting was intense, with Tia's presence, me playing Schubert, her reaction. Even with all the ups and downs, I wanted to believe it ended with her more inclined to accept me as her mentee.

Walking in the halls, I noticed I didn't know where her office was. All our interactions have always been in class, and now the training studio. While wandering around the third floor, searching for a door written "Professor Bianca Molina", time passed, and I couldn't find it. 'How is that possible?' Frustrated, I remembered I had her contacted saved in the class curriculum, and that was when I noticed her office was not in the piano department, but Opera Orchestra building.

Everything I knew about her was based on rumors. I witnessed her playing piano many times with perfection. Her name was always on pamphlets about college competitions, or her graduate students winning grants and awards all over the world. But besides that, I didn't know much about her trajectory, how she ended up as a professor in New York. What was her favorite composition? I am also certain that nobody has the answer to that question, not here at NYU, since all the gossip revolved around her professional life, and nothing more.

I walked in the direction of the Opera Orchestra studies building, thinking about who Bianca Molina was, the woman behind the professor title. It was weird for me to think about her as a woman, instead of the scary professor I am used to dealing with. Was she like that in her personal life, rude and implacable? Imaging a possible sweet side of professor Molina gave me butterflies, as if I was crossing a bridge to a forbidden land. 'I will probably never figure it out', I thought, while opening the building's door, into a high-ceiling entrance with a modern architecture. The huge yellow windows and black and white tiles made me travel to a fantasy world in Europe. It was an open hall, with stairs all around, leading us to a second floor with yellow walls and wood railing, where we had an amazing panoramic view of the entire first floor.

It was fascinating, but not as interesting as the sound coming from each class. A mix of instruments, laughs, unique designs, made me envy those students. They had so much life around them, emanating happiness and music all over its walls. Different from my building, students didn't feel as frustrated as I was. There they were, walking around the hall with their compositions and confidence. I could be being condescending, since I was comparing my department to my own experience so far, but the Opera building seemed to be the most alive place in New York for me.

One thing didn't change, however. When I approached a group of students asking about professor Molina, they looked at me with a mix of fear and empathy in their eyes. Pointing to the direction of her room, they alarmed me that she was in a particular mood today and it would be best for me to try another time. Their advice made my legs weak, rising on me a desire to run away and forget all about Sandy and my reasons. With a deep breath, I considered all the options, rationalizing a series of arguments in my head, in a desperate attempt to convince myself of going back to where I belong.

"Miss Olivia" A familiar, husky voice called my name behind me. Hesitant about turning to face professor Molina, I nodded at her, till debating if I should run.

"What brings you to this building?". There she was, with her long, dark black wavy hair falling on her shoulders. She was particularly beautiful today, maybe because it was the first time I saw her in a dress. Her accentuated waist sparked my imagination, drawing her curved body on that luxurious looking, soft viscose twill. Her legs were free from the jeans, exhibiting her robust calf, and delicate skin. I could have been staring at her, when I had my sense returned by her dry cough.