Chapter Text
The sharp, relentless cascade of notes filled the small hall, each arpeggio rolling like a storm across the keys. Her fingers moved with urgency, pushing through Chopin’s Revolutionary Étude , her left hand a blur—until suddenly, a slip. A single, sour note shattered the momentum, and the entire piece collapsed like a house of cards. Again.
Farah exhaled sharply, her breath unsteady from the sheer speed and effort. Frustration curled in her chest as her hands fell from the keys. With an irritated sigh, she slammed the piano lid shut, then let her forehead rest against the cool, polished wood for a moment before pushing herself upright.
She crossed the room to the window, her eyes drawn to the movement outside. It was a bright summer day—blue skies, pleasantly warm. Below, on the training ground, a group of teenagers were caught up in some kind of sports practice. She flexed her fingers absently, feeling the strain in them, the weight of the piece she had yet to master. How much she’d rather be outside, enjoying the sun, running, moving—anything but this battle with Chopin.
This was her second summer at the countryside estate, a place known for its sprawling athletic grounds—an outdoor track, a football pitch, even a swimming pool. Sports clubs held training camps here. But Farah wasn’t here for sports. She was here for the quiet, for the small concert hall in the right wing and its magnificent grand piano, which she practically lived at for most of the summer. And, of course, she was here because of her .
Rosalind Hale—former international soloist, third place in the Chopin Piano Competition, fourth in the Leeds Piano Competition. Farah’s mentor since she was nine, and, for the past two years, her legal guardian. After her parents had died in a car accident, leaving her alone in the world at just fourteen, Rosalind had taken her in.
It had been Rosalind who had spotted her talent years ago, at a small school recital in London. Who had convinced her parents to pull her out of her music school and let her take private tuition instead. Once, Farah had been just another child who split her time between piano, judo, and dance. Now, music was her whole world—piano was her whole world. She studied obsessively, dedicating herself to both performance and theory. Dance had once been her second passion, but after a bad ankle sprain months ago, Rosalind had insisted she give it up. Too much risk. Too much at stake. The only physical activity she was still allowed was swimming—thirty minutes every morning, not for pleasure but for fitness, to counteract the hours spent hunched over the keys.
Strict as she was, Farah was grateful for Rosalind—for taking her in, for giving her a home, however cold and structured it sometimes felt. More than anything, she was grateful for the faith Rosalind had in her, the belief that she could achieve greatness, and the time she devoted to helping her. She practised for hours, not just to chase the dreams Rosalind had laid out for her, but to prove herself worthy of them.
“Taking a break?” A familiar voice broke through her thoughts.
Farah turned to find Rosalind watching her from the doorway.
“Kind of,” she admitted with a sigh. “Not sure if it’s helping. I can’t get through the third page without messing it up.”
“Take a deep breath and try it slower,” Rosalind suggested.
Farah hesitated, glancing back out of the window. “Or… maybe I should go for a walk? Get some fresh air? A little movement might help.” Her gaze drifted back to the group outside, who were now sprinting across the field.
Rosalind stepped up beside her, following her line of sight. She exhaled, then unlatched the window, letting in a cool breeze. “Fresh air does help,” she acknowledged.
Farah’s hope lifted—
“But I know exactly where this is going, and the answer is no,” Rosalind finished firmly. “We can’t risk injury. You know that, Farah.”
Farah rolled her eyes. “I’m not made of glass, Rosalind. I could just as easily trip walking down the stairs.”
“Then I’d suggest you watch your step,” Rosalind said, her tone sharp. But then, as if to soften the moment, she reached for Farah’s hand. “Come, sweet girl. Show me the passage—let’s play it together. I’ve just finished with my last student for today.”
Reluctantly, Farah let herself be led back to the piano.
Moments later, Chopin filled the room once more. The respite was over.
*
The next morning, Farah had just finished her usual swim—thirty minutes of steady laps, back and forth across the pool. Now, with the sun finally breaking over the horizon, she lingered, sitting on the edge of the water with her legs still submerged. The warmth of the early rays dried her damp skin, and the faint sound of rippling water and the pool’s circulation system filled the silence.
There was no one else around—not surprising, considering it was barely past 6 a.m.
She stretched her arms behind her, leaning back slightly, letting her loose hair dry in the gentle breeze. Her mind, as if on autopilot, replayed sections of the Étude she had finally begun to tame yesterday. It was peaceful—until a sudden, sharp pain in her right hand made her yelp.
“Ouch!” She jerked her hand away instinctively, cradling it against her chest.
“Oh, shit—sorry!”
A shadow loomed over her, belonging to a boy about her age, dark-haired and clearly startled. He had jumped back as if he’d just stepped on hot coals.
“You idiot!” she snapped, examining her fingers, flexing them carefully to check for any real damage.
“I swear, I didn’t see you! The sun—completely blinded me…” the boy rushed to explain, looking genuinely apologetic.
She huffed, still inspecting her hand. “Out of all the empty space around this pool, you managed to step right on me? Really?”
He crouched down beside her, reaching for her hand before she could protest. His fingers brushed hers as he turned it over, checking for any sign of injury himself.
“I am really sorry. I’d never do that on purpose,” he said, looking up at her properly for the first time.
Farah blinked, taking him in now that he was more than just a silhouette against the sun. She’d seen him before, at meals in the canteen—he was probably part of one of the sports teams training here.
She sighed, realising she had snapped at him too quickly. “No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have called you an idiot. I know you didn’t mean to.”
“Well,” he said, grinning slightly, “I did just step on your hand around a completely empty pool. That is a bit idiotic.”
She let out a small laugh. There was something lively—almost mischievous—in his eyes, something that caught her attention.
“The sun is quite strong,” she admitted, pulling her hand back now that she was sure it wasn’t injured. “It’s fine.”
He nodded. “You must be an early riser to be out here at this hour.”
“Not really. I just prefer to swim alone,” she explained, stretching her fingers once more before tucking her hands under her thighs—a nervous habit she’d had for years.
“But then you can’t compete with anyone,” he pointed out.
She scoffed. “Competing against anyone here would be a terrible idea. I’m awful. I’d be mortified if people like you saw my swimming style.”
His brow furrowed. “People like me?”
“Athletes.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you’re not that bad. You probably just put all your energy into whatever other sports you do.”
Farah hesitated, glancing away. “I don’t do other sports.”
He tilted his head. “Why not?”
She swallowed, then shrugged. “Too risky. I can’t afford to break my fingers or hands.”
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.
“Because of the piano,” she added simply.
Realisation dawned on his face. “Oh—you’re the piano girl.”
Farah blinked. “The what ?”
“The piano girl,” he repeated with a grin. “Since we got here, we’ve been wondering who’s always practising in the right wing. Our coach told us there’s a girl who comes every summer just to play.”
“I… didn’t know people noticed,” she admitted, slightly embarrassed. “I hope I’m not bothering anyone.”
“Bothering? No way! It’s cool. I tried learning guitar once, but I have no coordination—can’t make my hands do two different things at the same time. But that piece you play—it’s all like tada tada… tada tada… tada tada —” he attempted to hum a very offbeat and hardly recognisable version of the Étude .
Farah stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Chopin. I think you mean Chopin.”
“Yeah, whatever, that one. It sounds amazing.”
She smiled. “It is amazing. I like it too.” She hesitated for a second, then extended her hand. “I’m Farah, by the way.”
He took it, shaking it gently, as if it were something fragile. “Saul. I’m Saul.”
“What sport are you here for, Saul?”
“Handball.”
Farah nodded, though she knew next to nothing about handball. “Are you aiming for the national team, or…?”
He chuckled. “I wish. I’m just a bit better than average, but I just enjoy sports in general. Before handball, I did rugby, but I was too small to take it seriously. Before that, swimming. And before that, karate.”
At the last mention, Farah perked up. “Oh! I did judo as a kid. That’s kind of the same as karate, right?”
He smirked, clearly debating whether to explain the many differences, then just said, “Yeah… kind of.”
“So, your parents let you do judo when you were a kid, but now they don’t want you doing any sports?” he asked, curious.
Farah’s expression dimmed slightly. “My parents died. Two years ago.”
Saul’s smile faded. “Oh. I’m… I’m really sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“Do you live with relatives, then?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t have anyone else. My piano teacher took custody of me—she’s been tutoring me since I was nine, so we’re quite close. She thinks I have the potential for a big solo career one day.” She tried to sound light-hearted about it.
Saul studied her for a moment, then smiled. “Well, after hearing your… uh… Schubert, I don’t doubt it.”
Farah laughed. “Chopin.”
He laughed too, shaking his head.
A noise behind them broke the moment—a group of girls in matching Speedos and caps arrived for their training. As if instinctively stepping out of the way, Farah pulled her legs from the water and stood.
“It was nice meeting you, Saul,” she said, waiting for him to stand as well.
“My pleasure, Farah.” He hesitated, then added, “And if you do want to work on that apparently ‘terrible’ swimming style of yours, I can give you a few tips.”
She tilted her head, squinting at him against the sunlight. “If you don’t mind getting up early.”
Saul grinned. “Let’s see.”
He watched her as she walked away, only turning back when the doors closed behind her.