Chapter 34
Josh
"Wait, Maya," I call out even though I know it's futile. Then I quicken my pace once more although I'm already running out of breath.
The billowing skirt of her summer dress gets tangled between her legs. She stumbles, but she keeps sprinting. It's as if she's running away from me even though it makes no sense at all. Because she's heading straight for the white-painted garden pavilion, bordered on two sides by a hedge. She must stop there.
I pick up the pace and reach out my hand. Miraculously, I manage to touch her.
Abruptly, she slows down. With her back turned to me, she gasps for breath. "Go away," she gasps. "Please."
"I can't do that," I say, massaging her shoulder. First, very gently, then with increasing intensity. "Let me help you."
Her breathing gradually calms down. I gently guide her to the double swing chair in front of the pavilion entwined with climbing roses.
She sinks onto the soft cushion. She clings tightly to the strange little box that threw her off course earlier, even more than the exam results.
I sit beside her. "When I was twelve, I participated in a talent competition. The grand prize was a scholarship at the Academy of Arts," I tell her. I don't want to pressure her, and I definitely don't want to convince her of anything. But maybe she can take something from my story.
"For months, I practiced. My fingers were sore, and my already poor grades plummeted. By the time of the elimination competition in early May, my teachers were certain I would have to repeat the grade." In my mind, I can still hear my father yelling. He was furious, calling me a fool and a good-for-nothing.
Maya's gaze flicks to me. "You had trouble in school?"
This isn't necessarily something I like to talk about, but it's true. "The piano was my life. Algebra, on the other hand, not so much, and structured work even less so." Even I hear the bitterness in my words.
She looks at me with surprise. She looks like she's trying to determine whether she can trust me. "It doesn't matter. The way you play, it doesn't matter if you can do anything else."
If only she knew...
Lost in thought, I gaze at the rose garden with its fragrant blossoms in all imaginable shades, from white to deep red. "Each of us has our talents and weaknesses."
A scoff escapes her lips. But before she can retort, I raise my hand.
"Even you." I look deep into her eyes.
She nibbles on her lower lip. "Did you win the competition?" Her fingers tighten their grip on the glittering box.
I would love to shrug casually, but the memory still hurts me to this day. Twenty-three years have passed, yet the wound inside me still feels fresh. I start rocking the swing chair, trying to release at least some of the negative energy that surges within me. "No."
"You came in second," she states, more of an observation than a question.
I shake my head.
Her eyes widen. "That's impossible."
That's what I thought back then too. But it happened. "I wasn't even on the shortlist," I say, the words strained.
She turns to face me. I can't read her expression.
Does she know what I'm trying to tell her with this story?
"You didn't give up," she murmurs suddenly. "Why?" There's pleading in her voice. I can hear her fear and her hope. Her doubts and her desires.
For a moment, we look at each other. Then I dare to place my hands on her cheeks. "I felt within me that I was born to play the piano. And I could make it, no matter what others tried to convince me of." My God, how I wish I still carried that conviction within me.
She falls silent, and all I can hear is her irregular breathing.
"What do you feel?" I ask softly, resting my forehead against hers, delving into the wild flicker in her eyes. "When you listen deep inside yourself and block out everything else. What does your heart tell you?" The tips of my fingers brush against her neck.
"I can't do it." She presses her lips together and swallows hard.
For a moment, I'm not sure what she's referring to. Are we still talking about the exam, or is it more about the magical tension that exists between us? "Why not? "
She lowers her gaze. Her fingers gently stroke the gem-encrusted box in her hand. Is that supposed to be a clue? Does all her behavior have something to do with this pretty little thing?
"Will you tell me what it is?" I ask cautiously.
She continues tracing the intricate patterns with her index finger. Minutes pass, during which she opens her mouth several times but closes it without uttering a word.
"A music box," she finally whispers into the silence between us. "My father gave it to me."
I gaze at the box, a little perplexed. "Does it play a special tune?"
Maya's response is a hesitant nod.
I gently stroke her tense cheeks with my thumbs. "May I hear it?"
Suddenly, her expression darkens. "No one can hear it." As if she immediately regrets her agitated tone, she furrows her brow.
"Not even yourself?"
I watch her reaction in astonishment as she shakes her head frantically. The music box was in her bag, which means she carries it with her constantly. Why does she do that if she never opens it?
As I look at her, more questions arise within me.
Who is this woman with the deep, dark eyes? What is she hiding behind her cheerful laughter, colorful attire, and apparent carefree demeanor?
Suddenly, something strange happens. Maya reaches for my hand and intertwines her trembling fingers with mine. "My father died when I was fourteen," she says so softly that I can barely hear her. "This box is the only thing I have left of him. "
Another reason to open it. Or not? "Did you have a happy time with him during your childhood?" I ask because everything else seems too delicate.
Her face brightens. "He was the best father anyone could imagine."
"That sounds wonderful. Did you do things together often?" He must have always been by her side. Quite the opposite of my own father.
"No." She shrugs, but the sparkle remains in her eyes. "He worked a lot. When he had time off, he was usually tired." Her mouth twitches. "That wasn't a problem," she quickly adds as if she needs to defend him. "When he was well-rested, he was fantastic."
"He was always there for you," I say absentmindedly, unintentionally comparing Maya's childhood with my own.
She gives me a wistful smile. "He always knew what to do..."
"And he always believed in you," I instinctively finish her sentence.
Tears gather in the corners of her eyes. "How do you know that?"
"I'm sure he still believes in you," I say, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. Because all my life, I've wished for nothing more than to have a father like that. She shrugs. "If he were here right now, what do you think he would advise you?" I ask.
A melancholic expression passes over her face. She clears her throat. "Whenever you lose your way. And whenever you don't know what to do. Open this music box. Listen to the music," she says, altering her voice. Then she exhales shakily. "And remember that you are the greatest miracle of all. "
That's what she is. Why can't she see that?
Suddenly, she lowers her eyes. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."
I wrap my arms around her. "Because it's what your heart is telling you." Deep down, she knows what she needs to do, I'm sure of it.
She rests her head against my chest. "I can't give up," she murmurs. And even though she sounds far from convinced, it's at least a first step in the right direction.
"You can do it," I say. There's nothing more to be said. So I fall silent and hold her tightly as long as she'll let me. The rocking chair sways us gently back and forth, the scent of roses surrounds us, and the birds sing their own unique melody for us.
Seconds may have passed, or perhaps hours. But then she releases herself from my embrace. "Thank you, Josh," she says and kisses my cheek.
I can't help myself. Everything in me longs to be close to her. So I turn my head and press my lips against hers. We touch each other with infinite tenderness. A tingle spreads throughout my body. I feel her shudder too.
She doesn't pull away, but instead returns the kiss. We sink into this moment, which feels like a new beginning. For her. And for both of us.
Minutes later, we finally part, and she looks deep into my eyes. "I..."
Quickly, I place my finger on her lips. "What does your heart say?" I ask her, just as before.
"It's not saying anything. It's screaming with all its might," she breathes with a longing gaze. "For you." She swallows, and her breath quickens .
I let my hand trail to her neck. "Just like mine."
Suddenly, I can feel her pulse. It's racing.
A radiant smile spreads across her face. I don't need anything more to know that from this day forward, we will never be without each other. Freed from all doubts, we kiss until we can't breathe anymore, and we embrace until the heat almost consumes us.