Around once every two week,
She passes my house at eleven AM.
In her arms she carries a large black binder.
Sometimes, she kicks my fence.
Every Saturday morning, I sit next to the window in the room facing the road where she walks by. I bring a book I wrote to edit it.
It's cold out there.
At exactly ten fifty five I start looking outside of the window at her long wavy wheat-colored hair, passing and flying in the wind.
On some days her golden hair is held hostage by a hat.
Her skin is a fair mix of light ivory and angelic coffee. The cold sprinkles her cheeks with a cute apricot glow. When she blinks, her eyelids polish her almond shaped eyes with a sparkle. Pink and plump, her lips are always dry and cracked.
Cars pass by slowly.
She comes back at twelve-o-five, noon, and I can observe her once more.
On her way back, she always wanders slower, which gives me ten more seconds to stare.
What can she be thinking about?
Only until this week have I found out where she was going; her big black binder flews open thanks to the wind.
Thousand of sheets flew into the gray sky, disappeared.
I stared, shocked and scared.
She bent down and picked up the only piece of paper that stayed with her. Sighing, she crumpled it and tossed it to the ground.
It lay near my fence.
I ran downstairs, shoveled on my boots and fell outside. I picked up the slightly soaked sheet that read : Für Elise. I ran after her silhouette and caught her coat tail.
I asked her:
"Hey, would you like to play this for me?"
She stared, surprised, and smiled and nodded.
-
That was the start of us, anyway. That's how we're here, in a plane, together, on the way to Hawaii.
YOU ARE READING
The Pianist and the Author
Mystery / Thriller[Completed] Who knew that a cold of wind would result in an unforgettable love story? Meet Samantha and Beatrice, two lovely girls who complete each other both in need and love. But all the fluff is soon drained away when Samantha is stolen away one...
