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I mentally applauded myself for not looking back, even as I shut the door behind me. Abbas’ innocent eyes looked at the objects in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Today different.”

“Are we still going to learn music?”

“Yes, but today with violin.”

I walked over to the copy, spending a good while tuning it under Abbas’ watchful gaze. After, I placed the sponge under the violin and used multiple not-rubberbands to secure it in place.

Only then did I beckon Abbas over. “Copy me.”

He nodded and attempted to mimic the way I stood with a straight back and feet slightly parted in a V-shape.

“Body stiff.” I tsked, tapping on his shoulders. “Relax.”

His shoulders dropped, and I nodded, circling him until I was sure he could somewhat keep the position.

“Good,” I said. “Now, copy me.”

I took his violin and angled it first at the top of my head and then to the top of my chin and then to my shoulder until my chin rested at a perfect forty-five-degree angle, releasing my hands. “You see?”

“Yes,” Abbas said.

I carefully removed the violin and handed it to Abbas. “Now you.”

Naturally, he put too much tension to the point that it was too high so I tapped his neck, shoulder and chin. “Relax.”

“But it’ll fall.”

“If right, no fall.”

Like so, I directed him over and over again for however many minutes and hours it took until I could say with confidence he had some semblance of a violinist’s posture.

At the end of it, tears welled up in his dark eyes. “Why is it so hard and painful to get it right?”

“All beauty has ugliness. Nothing beautiful exists with no pain and work.” As I said the words, I stared at my desk with my latest attempt at composition. “Good music is lifetime, not easy. Not from one day.”

“Will it always be like this?”

“For some, yes, but if you love, pain will vanish.” Honestly, I thought we’d start on some scales at least, but if his posture wasn’t corrected it would cause problems down the line.

“I think I understand.”

“Everyday, practice hold violin. When I happy, we start playing. Bad posture make bad music. If need help or you think wrong, I here.”

He nodded, picking up the violin and walking away. When the door was closed, I walked once more towards my notes, visions of that woman who looked nearly identical to me clouding my mind. Why did she look so much like me? Did it have anything to do with the memories that self-proclaimed god claimed I traded away?

I shook my head clutching the wooden desk. “Just breathe.”

If all beauty stemmed from pain and my block was because of the woman and gold, then the only thing left would be for me to face her head on. After all, I wouldn’t be much of a musician if I hid from my troubles instead of playing music about them. The song in question had yet to be written.

* * *

“I don’t like the dark,” the woman said.

The Shadow said, “I know.”

“Can your music bring back the light?”