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 ascholarship 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.
