"I didn't know you could sing."

Bianca's voice was soft and melodic, evidently showing her surprise. The room's attention was not on me anymore, returning to each group's gossip and small talks. For the first time since I arrived, it was just me and my professor, even though we were surrounded by strangers' voices.

"You never asked". I joked, taking a sip of the white wine the waiter had just served me. Bianca copied me, also drinking from her glass, eyes smiling at me, allowing me to see a torment of questions running behind those amber colors.

"Sorry if they pushed you too hard. They couldn't just take my word for granted . . . they need to listen for themselves before accepting you into our circle."

"I am fine". This time my eyes naturally avoided her, as if they knew those words were lies.

"Are you?" Of course, her sharp attention to detail would not let pass my undeniable nervousness. I smiled back more in an attempt to assure her, which was completely unnecessary since I was visibly uncomfortable.

"Olivia . . ." Her natural husky tone made me glance back at her eyes, finding on her lips a welcoming smile. She slowly lifted her left hand that was resting on her waist in the direction of my arm, when she was stopped by the voice of a young lady approaching us. My heart anticipated the touch, but I was relieved by the intrusion. It would have been really hard to maintain my composure if our skin had touched.

"Professor Bianca. Miss Olivia. I just want to welcome you to our group. Your presentation was outstanding! I confess that Phantom of the Opera is kind of a surprising choice. What made you choose that song?"

Another sip of my wine - I don't even like wines. I would say I'm more of a beer girl. Both of them were staring at me, waiting for an answer. I wasn't sure how to deliver it. Raising my gaze from my glass to my professor's face, I smiled gently at her, now moving my eyes to meet the girl's inquiring gaze.

"I was saying my goodbye".

The girl, who I later discovered to be called Ellen, looked confused but decided to restrain from any further questions, leaving us alone after some seconds of awkward silence. I tried to look at my professor, but I was too scared of what her face would look like and the meanings behind it.

"C'mon". She said, inviting me to follow her. "I want you to meet some students."

I couldn't deny it felt good to be complimented for my talent, but at a certain point, it became so vain, as if they were all superficial lies. Everyone was willing to compliment me, inviting me to dinners, brunches, and training sessions at college. Jealousy and mean comments hid behind large smiles and white teeth, befogged by beautiful words.

Bianca was, however, the heart of that circle. If she was not involved in a conversation, she was at least mentioned often in all of them. Everyone admired her talent as a pianist, highlighting her ability to find prominent students, shaping them into the image of perfection. It was clear she held all the admiration, although, all of them agreed that her methods were often unique, to not say tough. Some assured me that her finding me meant nothing; if I couldn't survive her training; apparently, it happened frequently. "She will squeeze you, until all your skills are perfectly refined."

It wasn't hard to believe them. I had already seen her harshness, which was not pleasant. Nobody had, however, received her attention as I did, through concerned questions, gentle touches, and weird calls. I knew part of her cared about me; why would she ask me to not drink last night? Or come to meet me outside of the bar, on a dark night? Or even try to protect me this morning? Maybe I am delusional, seeing signs where they don't exist, but I have seen how she cares and, perhaps, it makes me special.

Guided by curiosity, I slowly walked away from the living room, hoping to get to see what the other rooms could tell me about Bianca. The hallway was short, leading to an open kitchen with a huge glass door leading to the backyard. It was modern, but decorated with rustic wrought furniture, beige walls, tall plants in huge vases on all the windows. Her kitchen island was centralized, with white ceramic as countertops, illuminated by 2 modern chandeliers falling from two wood columns that supported her roof. It was the most beautiful kitchen I had ever seen, a mix of rustic country with modern Spanish décor.

"Olivia?! Are you looking for something?"

I recognized her voice without even turning to face her. A million of excuses crossed my mind, but it all sounded fake, so I decided to be honest.

"I was curious about your house. Sorry for my intrusion. It is probably really inconvenient, if not rude of me."

Timid, I started massaging my neck in discomfort, avoiding her eyes. The sound of a happy laugh broke the silence, making me instantly move to see Bianca's face. Her eyes were forced closed by her genuine laugh. Her hair was naturally moving, revealing her bright, black, curly layers. I could get used to that view every morning.

"How can you be so . . ." She stopped, biting her bottom lips while passing her hand through her hair.

"So, what?" I asked, hoping she would finish her phrase.

"So brutally honest?" - She sighed into a cute smile. - "How can you be so original?"

"Maybe New York has not corrupted my small-town side yet." I joked, smiling back at her without moving my eyes from hers.

"I hope it never does. We need that here . . . I mean, real people. But I also hope you don't suffer much while trying to keep it."

"I swear, the way everyone talks about New York, or the orchestra groups, it makes me want to crawl down into my soul. Is it that bad to live here? To become a successful pianist and be happy at the same time?"

It was hard to identify what emotions were rolling on her eyes. Her mind was miles away from us, diving into a rabbit hole to an unseen dimension. I didn't mind it, in the end I could look at her without fear, admiring how beautiful she was, and how intelligent she looked even in silence. Still quiet, she moved towards her fridge, taking out a medium-sized cake covered in strawberries and whipped cream.

"Would you join me?" She asked, holding a spoon now pointing at me. "It is my favorite ice cream cake, from an Italian bakery not so far from here. My Spanish side can not survive without a good dessert or warm bread for breakfast."

Sitting on a stool, I took the spoon while laying my left elbow on her kitchen's island.

"Alright. So you like desserts, especially fruity ones. Your breakfast is probably full of cheeses, breads, butter, and juice. You like white wine, because it was all we had for drinking today."

"Wait, are you criticizing my choice of wine?" Her ironic comment made me giggle. With my mouth full of cream, I said.

"This is so good!" - She reacts with an innocent smile. - "But you are right, I am criticizing you. What is wrong with a good old can of beer?"

"You can't be serious." Surprised, she stared back at me wondering if I was being sarcastic, which I wasn't. "Are you seriously suggesting that I offer beer for a group of renowned students and musicians? Ah! Now that makes sense, you are here to sabotage me. Aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes at me, pinching her eyebrows together, staring. I couldn't avoid laughing at her, imagining how good it would feel if I pulled her closer and kissed her face until her eyebrows were soft again. Of course, however, all I could do was straighten my back, raise my nose in a confident expression and say:

"Well, all this stilted environment is not healthy. I can guarantee half of them would be much happier, and enjoying their Sunday, if they were drinking a good, cold beer instead of that boring wine. And I am pretty sure all of them will do that as soon as they get out of here and stop pretending whatever they are pretending to be."

Another spoon of that delicious cake, while I waited to fight her next argument.

"I didn't know you were a behavior specialist. Maybe you are, indeed, in the wrong department, my dear."

We laughed together, both giving up on winning that conversation and deciding to enjoy the delicious cake, drinking, in fact, a delicious orange juice. I couldn't believe I was sitting in her kitchen, comfortable eating, sharing smiles and jokes, as if we were good friends. For the first time she was relaxed in my presence, letting me know more details of what she likes, with no masks.

"We should go back. People will notice we are gone for too long."

"Let them." I said hoping she could agree with me. I wasn't ready to go back to a reality where we were just a professor and student, a world where I wasn't allowed to get intimate with her. "I am having a good time sitting here with you, one of the best since I got to New York. I don't want to go back out there, keep pretending to care about people's opinion about the best restaurant, or the latest fashion show, or who threw the best party in the department.."

"Giorgio's restaurant at 11 street in New York, the latest fashion parade from Balenciaga and Christine Montgomery, she is the best at organizing events . . . you will see, her annual party is always the most anticipated one."

"HA-HA-HA. You are so funny."

I said, in disbelief. Feeling kind of hurt for her decision to ignore my request to stay as we were. It automatically sent me back to that day in the library, where I held her arm begging her to not leave, and she did it anyway. I could only blame myself, easily putting my guards down for her, showing all my vulnerability, getting nothing more than her composure in return. Putting the spoon away, I got off my seat without waiting longer, since I knew we would be leaving the kitchen anyways. Why should I prolong my disappointment?

Following me, we were back to a room full of talented minds, but fake smiles. Nobody had noticed our absence, all too worried to look at something that was not their own nose. I glanced at Bianca, already lost in a group of pianists, entertained about their discussion of which piece should be played next. One of them, a taller man, probably around his thirties, sat at the piano and started playing Mozart. He was undeniably talented, with a sharp technique and exemplary posture.

Everyone was nodding, as if it was expected from him. I, on the other hand, was bored. I remember how my grandpa's meetings were full of exciting music, honest laughs, interesting conversations about unique places, or original compositions. Music was alive with them, running in their eyes as each one played an instrument, running through their voices, contaminating the air with authenticity. Here, nonetheless, all I could see was contained hands, stiff postures, pretending. If that was what her society could offer to me, maybe I wasn't the best fit for it. Tia's friends, a group of poor musicians, seemed to enjoy music much more than all these "famous" people together.

Resting my back against a pier, trying to concentrate on his performance, I found Bianca's eyes staring at me. In confusion I nodded at her, in a gesture asking if she was alright. Ignoring it, she returned her attention to the man, which I found a little odd. Not long after the clock announced the end of the meeting, no one tried to overstay. Hugs and kisses were all over the living room, hands shaking, welcomed voices assuring they would see me on the next weekend. For some reason I felt as if I needed to say goodbye to all of them, as if I was the one hosting the party, maybe because I felt as if it was my debuting party, or something like that.

Soon, it was only me and Bianca standing in her living room, while her staff started cleaning.

"I will not ask what you thought about it. Something tells me you didn't have a good time." She seemed disappointed.

"I really appreciate your invitation. I just think it is not exactly my type of crew. I am sorry if I am being rude or ungrateful."

Bianca invited me to sit on her nice brown couch, asking for the staff to give us a moment alone. I followed her, wondering if I should sit next to her or at the other side of the couch. In the end, I thought it was better to give us some space.

"Olivia. I understand your dreams, and I do really think it is beautiful how you stand for your beliefs, but . . ." Her hands, previously resting on her lap, moved to her hair, a gesture that I notice she did every time she felt frustrated. "You do have talent, everyone today could see it. But it isn't enough. You need connection, network is fundamental in the life of a successful musician. The people in this room today, they are the ones you should be worried about pleasing."

I hated how conceited she sounded. Maybe I was in fact a dreamer, a naive girl from a small town, but I couldn't hide how disappointed I felt by seeing her worry about appearance, surrounded by pretenders. 'Is that the life I wanted?'

"My grandpa taught me piano. Since I was a kid, his house was always full of musicians playing together, laughing. I will never forget how happy they sounded in each other's company. When I decided to become a pianist, all I dreamed of was finding friends like them that enjoyed music as much as I do. You are probably right. You know more about this world than I do, but if I accept your words, I am scared of what I would become".

The vision of her living room's window facing the main street caught my attention. I could see fancy cars parked all down the street in their garages, no one walking, no sound of music, or kids playing. What life would be waiting for me, if I surrendered to what this system expected from me?

"After he died, it was just me and my mom. I was young, still in middle school. My mom was working so hard to keep up with the bills. Do you know how she made it? Because people cared about us. Our neighbors were always helping each other, supporting as they could. I have childhood friends that I hate how distant we have become since I moved."

Bianca was now also staring out the same window as me.

"It sounds great. I never had any of that. My mom was a frustrated actress that never reached her dream, and my dad was a successful doctor, but unhappy husband. I discovered my ability at the piano thanks to my uncle, a bohemian musician that would eventually join us at family reunions. As soon as my parents figured I was not just talented, but a 'genius', as some would say, all my life transformed. I could never play, or have friends over - not that I even had friends. Every second of my day spun around piano classes, auditions, reunions. I grew up in this world, Olivia. Talent is necessary, but you need more. That's just the reality."

Annoyed, she left the couch now to stand closer to her piano. I was always curious to know more about her life, the one behind her name, but it didn't sound as glamorous as I imagined. Now it was her time to be vulnerable, open up her heart, even if just a breach.

"Bianca. I . . ."

"You should go Olivia."

She said with her back to me, sounding tired, while caressing the piano's keys with her fingers. I didn't want to leave her like that, alone in that big house, without anyone who truly cared about her. Her past or what she hid inside her heart is unknown to me, and even if she was right about everything, a voice inside me still believed that it was possible to find a middle world in both of our truths.

Her back looked so unprotected. At that moment, under her house's lights, the famous professor seemed to me as a woman, instead of a pianist, someone that I learned to admire, but ended up adoring. I knew I should respect her wishes and leave, but part of me was not ready to give up. Getting closer to her, I hugged her back, passing my arms around her waist. Bianca's body froze under my touch, rigid as a stone, she tried to move.

"Olivia. What do you think you are doing?"

I could hear how surprised she sounded.

"Please, just for a couple of minutes. I will leave, out the door, and never bother you again, but please, just give me some minutes."

Expecting her to yell at me, pushing me away from her, Bianca's hand laid on top of mine, hugging my arms now resting on her waist. I laid my head on her back, quietly resting, while Bianca's body relaxed. We could agree about how perfectly our bodies fit together. I could feel her chest moving while she breathed, slowly taking in the moment. Trying hard to not read into her reactions, wondering if she felt the same as I did, my heart raced in my chest, happily hiding its excitement. Even if just briefly, even if just once in a lifetime, I was happy to have her in my arms.

When I kissed Tia, all my body could feel was desire. In Bianca's arms, simply having her close, I feel as if the universe had stopped to guarantee me a present, a momentaneous award. Having her so close felt like a gift, a warm hug from the sky in my heart. It is so complicated to put into words how special I felt by having her, someone that I not only admired, but that found a way into my heart as nobody else had done before.

Taking a last deep breath I let go of her waist. Without knowing what to do next. I stood there staring at her back, also still immobile.

"Olivia . . . you should go home now."

I couldn't see her face, but she sounded sad, which broke my heart. I never wanted to make her life harder, but in the end I was a selfish woman. Returning to the couch, I grabbed my jacket and phone. Looking at her one last time, I encouraged myself to walk past her and never look back. Not moving, Bianca was still close to her piano when I passed by her shoulders. Unable to control myself, I stopped one more time, my face closer to her right ear, while a sensation of sadness squeezed my heart.

"I am sorry".

I whispered, closing my eyes for seconds trying to take in her perfume, hoping to hold it in my memory forever. Moving away from her I could see the main door not so far, realizing how impossible it was for us to be in the same room without me running back home in tears. As I was almost reaching the door knob, a warm hand held my wrist, stopping me. Confused, I looked at my left hand, and to my surprise, Bianca was now the one behind me, laying herself against my back.

Her mouth gently kissed my shoulder, while both her arms were crossed around my waist. Shocked, I didn't know how to react, scared of any movement that could pull her away from me. Taking in her hug, I closed my eyes, hoping that our morning would end on good terms, instead of her regretting my existence. Touching her hands, I started rubbing them with my thumb, making circles on her skin. With her mouth still on my shoulder, I could feel her lips shaping a smile..

Slowly, I decided to turn, facing her, even if it would be the last time. Smiling at her, I moved my hand to rest on her cheek, caressing her face for the first time. Under my touch, her cheek raised, revealing how blushed I made her. Her eyes were now slightly narrowed and a coy smile formed on her face. Moving from my eyes to my lips, Bianca reduced the distance between us by crossing her arms around my neck. I couldn't believe that was happening. 'What should I do? Should I kiss her? Should I let her kiss me? Maybe touch her arm?' A whirlwind of thoughts crossed my mind, making me nervous and too self aware.

"We shouldn't do this." She said looking at my lips while biting her own cheek.