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For her, I’ll do this right. For her, I’ll give her privacy and space.
The hall is bathed in silence as I wait for her to either call out or open the door.
Or she could simply ignore you.
My foot taps on the floor, impatience building with every second that goes by. Will she tell me to come in? Or is she waiting for me to give up and leave?
Never gonna happen, firefly.
If she thinks I’d do that, she doesn’t know me at all.
I knock again, and this time, I hear shuffling before her small voice calls out, “Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
“No.” She says it so quickly that I wonder what she’s up to on the other side.
“Open up, Sasha.”
She groans on the other side of the door. “Fine. Give me a second.”
The door finally swings open, and I don’t wait to step inside. Sasha is quick to retreat across the room and take a seat on the bed. She looks rattled. But why?
The cello sits beside her on the mattress, and her knees are bent with her arms wrapped around them. Her face is tinged with fear. Pale. What is she afraid of? What lurks in the corners of her mind? The ghosts from her past?
“D-did you h-hear me?” She stammers the words, and my heart breaks a little.
I don’t know why she’s so afraid of people hearing her play. I want to know what’s going on in that head of hers.
“You play beautifully,” I say before I can stop myself.
She looks up at me, surprise in her eyes. “You were listening? For how long?”
I nod. “Long enough to know you’re very talented.”
Her head drops. “I wouldn’t have played if I’d known anyone was listening.”
“You didn’t know I was here? That I was home?”
“No, I didn’t, or I wouldn’t have been playing. Like I already said,” she snaps. It sounds like her fear has turned into anger.
The need to make her feel better is intense. I want her to let go of these fears.
“You not playing would be a tragedy,” I tell her, and her mouth falls open, but no words come out. “Is there any way you could learn to play in front of people?”
“I’ve tried.” She shrugs. “It’s sad, honestly, because all I want to do is play. All I want to do is perform in a theater. Go to Juilliard…” She stops herself, her hand covering her mouth.
“You want to go to Juilliard?”
She sighs, resigning herself to opening up. “That’s my dream.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Her eyes narrow in on me, and her nose scrunches in a move that sayswhat do you think?
“Other than the fact that some unknown threat is keeping me hostage in your house?” Her voice is soft, as if she’s joking, but the truth rings out in her tone anyway. “I’m not sure what my dream is anymore. All I know is that it doesn’t involve being stuck here with you.”
My back straightens with the force of her rejection, but she doesn’t see it because she continues.
