In a stage of a concert hall infront of an audience there sits a pianist. Not just an ordinary pianist, but an extremely talented charismatic, and marvelous wonderful prodigy. This pianist is barely at the age of eight.

He is performing pieces that takes years to master for pianists that are three times his age, and he is performing them from memory.

"Impressive, very impressive. A Child Genius!" remarked by one of the music professors.

After the recital, the family was greeted by the members of the audience and the child prodigy was introduced and shook different personalities with which the child doesn't really pay any mind.

One afternoon while the family was outside the church, the child played with his baseball while the parents were speaking with acquaintances. 'Stay away from the street! You might get hurt!' the father warned the boy, and they kept chatting.

The mother, standing a few paces away, smiled faintly but seemed distant and lost in her own thoughts. The boy barely noticed her gaze; she rarely watched him play, as if something always weighed on her mind.

Moments later, a loud screeching from a car tire was heard.

Before anyone could react, the boy lying on the street unconscious.

Panic ensued. The parents ran to the boy and picked him up.

A few moments later, the boy regained consciousness and uttered "I.. I'm... mm .... ok. ookay" with a slurred speech.

At the hospital, a doctor examined him and have concluded minor injuries. However, his speech has not regained and still mumbles what he is trying to say every now and then.

“His tongue and lips move fine, but he struggles to speak… it’s as if his brain forgets how to send the commands.” the Doctor explains.

Later that day, further testing was done by the doctor.

"It seems your child has suffered a minor brain injury from the accident. This has affected his ability to coordinate the movements needed for speech," the doctor explained. "In medical terms, it is called verbal apraxia. His lips and tongue work, but his brain struggles to tell them what to do, which is why he mumbles or stumbles over words."

"Will he… will he ever speak normally again?" the mother asked, worry etched on her face.

"It's difficult to say," the doctor replied gently. "Some children improve with time and practice, others may continue to have difficulty. One thing is certain, his mind remains sharp, and his musical talents are unaffected."

Years later, the boy, now a young man, was working as a server on a diner, and performed piano at another bar during the night.

"H.. here's.. y-your order...s-sir" the young man still struggles to speak properly as he serves food to the customers.

"Alright young man your shifts over, cya around tomorrow!" said his manager.

Sporting a beige long-coat with his dark-green fedora, the young man headed to his next job at a nearby bar. A Jazz Pianist.

In the dim parts of the room, behind the singer and the band, there he was, sitting and playing like no other. His prodigious talent never left. In fact, it's as though it has improved tenfold.

The audience applauded, but this time, it wasn't for him. It was for the singer. To him this was just another job to do, but deep inside he knew he is doing this because he loves to play.

The following day, he was back at his serving job at the diner. A woman entered, she has long chestnut hair with mild curls. She brings with her the air of mystery and elegance, wearing a dark-brown long coat made of wool, with a tilted short brim hat.

'C-calm down… don’t s-screw this up… just… hello…' he thought frantically.

"H-Hello"

"Hello to you too" she courteously answered with a smile.

She then proceeded to take a seat and ordered her meal.

The young man was in awe. Almost forgetting that he is working, but his condition is taking away all the confidence he has.

The next day, once again. The same woman was back in the diner. 'She… she’s here again… mustn’t mumble.' he thought to himself.

He wanted to say hello… but only mumbled words stumbled out. She smiles at him politely. He felt seen despite the silence.

He wanted to speak… to tell her she’s… remarkable… but his voice refused. Instead, he just brought the tray closer, hands trembling slightly.

The tray slipped. Glass shattered, sending cold liquid across the polished floor. Her coat was soaked. His heart sank. Words… none. Only mumbled apologies stumbled out: "S…so… s-sorry… I… I…"

"It's alright, don't worry, it's a minor thing."

He offered a tissue to her. The manager approached, reprimanded him, sent him back to the kitchen, and apologized to the lady. She gladly accepted.

'I'm so stupid.. what was I doing.. that was really, really bad, I'm a mess' he thought to himself.

"Hey fella, you alright there?" the manager asked him with concern.

"S-sorry sir, I-I.. i-it.. just slippe-..."

"Don't worry too much, it happens. Next time just ask her out upfront." the manager remarked with a laugh.

"I-It's not… I-I don’t… I just…" trying to find words, shy and flustered. The manager noticed he liked the girl.

"It's alright sport, don't think too much when around her and just tell her what you're thinking. If she reacts positively, good, you got a good chance. If not, then good, you tried." the manager said.

One late evening while walking home, he sees someone being mugged. The young man immediately jumped the mugger and tried to overpower him, the mugger slashed him and ran away.

"A-Are.. y-you okay?"

"Yes, oh lord you're bleeding, let me see."

Surprised, he realized it was the lady.

"I-It's okay, I-I'm okay.."

"No, let me see."

The lady took a napkin and wrapped his wounds with it. The young man still embarrassed from the lady and couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

"Uhh… a-about… ear-lier… s-sorry…"

She held his face gently, tilting it so he would meet her eyes. "It's alright" His cheeks warmed.

"Thank you for saving me"

"Y-you're welcome."

She invited him to her place to properly tend to the wound.

"How are you going to play the piano with this wound?" she asked.

"Y-you k-know?"

"Yes, I've seen you play a few times now" she admitted with a bit of embarrassed tone.

"You're really really good. You'll be famous someday, I bet." she added.

The next few weeks, she came to the diner often. Every time, his stomach twisted, words tangled in his mouth.

"H… h-hello…"

"Hello again," she said with a small smile.

'She… she’s here again… please don’t mumble…' he thought frantically.

Sometimes she stayed after her meal, watching him pour coffee for other customers. He noticed the tilt of her hat, the way her fingers played with her napkin, the faint smell of her perfume. He could barely speak.

At the bar during piano nights, he played behind the singer. His hands moved like lightning, the notes flowing as if they had a life of their own. Some nights, she appeared in the back, quiet, watching. He felt seen even without words.

'She… she listens… she sees me…' he thought, heart pounding.

Small exchanges grew between them.

"How’s your night?"

"I-It's… g-good… y-you k-know…"

She laughed softly. "You’re awkward… but kind. I like that."

'K-kind… she… she really said that…' he thought, cheeks burning.

One night, after a performance, she lingered.

"You always play with so much feeling," she said quietly, eyes bright.

"T-thank… you…" he murmured, unable to fully meet her gaze.

They shared a silent understanding. No more words were needed. A connection had formed, subtle and real.

"S-say.. w-would you go out with me?"

"Yes." she answered with a genuine smile.

They decided to meet the following evening at a small café, just for a casual walk and coffee. Nothing fancy, nothing formal—just time together. He could barely speak without stammering, but she didn’t seem to mind.

'Okay… okay… just… breathe…' he thought as he approached her table.

They laughed over small things, shared quiet glances, and talked about music, the bar, and fleeting moments from their days. Words came slowly for him, but the connection was clear.

'She… she enjoys being here… with me…' he realized, heart light for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a date in the usual sense—it was a friend-date, a bridge between silence and the words he longed to say.

Weeks passed. Their small conversations became the highlights of his day. Every smile from her sent his heart racing.

'Maybe… maybe one day I can… say it…' he thought, fingers trembling as he cleared tables.

One evening, she lingered longer after her meal, watching him from the booth. He caught her gaze, froze, then mumbled:

"D-d-do you… want… coffee… later…?"

She tilted her head, smiled softly. "I’d like that."

He almost stumbled over his own feet getting her coffee. Words stuck, but his eyes said it all.

That night at the bar, his fingers danced across the keys like never before. He imagined her listening, imagined her smile. Every note was for her, though she didn’t know it yet.

'She… she will… notice… someday…'

The following weekend, they met at a small park. Autumn leaves drifted across the path as they walked side by side. Words came slowly for him, but her presence made silence comfortable.

'Just… just… smile…' he thought, hands deep in his coat pockets.

"I… I… like… walking… here… with you…" he mumbled, cheeks burning.

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Me too. It's nice… just us, for a little while."

They stopped by a bench, sitting quietly. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but his voice refused. Instead, he offered her his scarf as the wind picked up.

"Thank you…" she whispered, warmth in her eyes.

Minutes stretched, filled with gentle glances, shy smiles, and the unspoken understanding between them. Each small laugh, each stammered word, built something stronger than speech alone could convey.

The leaves danced with the gentle breeze, and the lights of nearby streets glowed like stars in the night sky. He mustered all his willpower:

'I...love... you.'

She smiled gently.

"I can't..." she said slowly, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

"In a week, I'll be leaving for Europe—for my work. I can't be in love and leave you behind." she admitted, unable to hold back her tears.

"I.. I know it's selfish, I feel the same way, but.. but.." she struggled to find the words.

"I understand." he said

Her eyes gleamed hearing his voice, hearing it steady and wonderful touched her heart.

"I'll come back for you, but if by any chance I can't, will you promise to come to me?"

"I'll wait for you, and if you can't come back, I'll go wherever you are." he answered.

She left for Europe, pursuing her career. The train station was emptying fast, but the memory of her promise hung in the air.

They wrote letters weekly to each other, filled with small updates, confessions of longing, shared anecdotes from their daily lives. Every envelope was a thread connecting them across thousands of miles.

For the first few months, she responded with warmth and attention, recounting her days, the new friends she’d made, the work that thrilled her. He clung to each word, reading and rereading them, committing every line to memory.

But as months passed, she stopped sending back letters.

He waited impatiently and excitedly by the mailbox, pausing his work, staring at the mailbox imagining her handwriting hoping for a sign, a hint, anything. Still, none came. He wondered if she had forgotten him, if life had moved on and left him behind. Yet he kept writing, his words now a mix of hope and quiet despair, sent into a void he could not reach.

In Europe, months after she moved, the young lady got into a car accident. It left her unconscious for days. When she awoke, the world was strange and unfamiliar. All these faces were strangers, names meant nothing.

"W-where am I? W-what happened?" she asked the nurse

"You are in a hospital, you were in a car accident a few days ago." the nurse explained.

The doctor was called, and later that day, her friends.

Her own past was a haze of colors and sensations without form. Slowly fragments of her memories returned: the smell of rain on stone, the laughter of a friend in a café, the rustle of autumn leaves. But the boy, the one who had haunted her thoughts was absent from every memory.

She struggled to make sense of her own life, relearning who she was, who she wanted to be.

Friends and doctors helped and guided her. The world moved forward. She gradually adapted, embracing her second chance at life.

Music became a lifeline, a language she felt but could not name. Still, now and then, she found herself humming a tune she didn’t recognize, one that stirred something deep inside, though she couldn’t place why.

Back in his world, life went on with its own rhythm. Nights at the bar turned into weekend gigs at larger halls. Letters unanswered became music in his mind, notes poured out faster, sharper, more precise. Every performance carried fragments of hope and loss, and audiences marveled at his virtuosity without knowing the cost behind it.

"I hope she's listening. I'll become better and perform at more places."

Years passed. Small halls became theaters, theaters became concert halls. Fame grew slowly but surely. Interviews asked about his talent; reviews called him a prodigy of the century. He played for strangers who cheered, applauded, and celebrated him, but in quiet moments, he imagined her in the back of every hall, listening, smiling, remembering. And always, every note was a letter to a woman who might have forgotten him entirely.

Even as his hands danced across the keys with mastery, his thoughts lingered in the empty streets he once walked with her, in cafés where words had failed him, in fleeting memories of laughter that belonged to another life.

His heart, tethered to a melody no one else could hear, continued to wait, to hope, and to play for her alone.

One breezy autumn afternoon, she saw posters of an upcoming performance by a world-renowned piano virtuoso. A strange tug pulled at her chest, a whisper of familiarity she couldn’t name. Curiosity won, and she decided to attend.

The theater was vast and hushed, golden lights glinting off polished wood and brass. She found her seat near the back, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the program. Somewhere deep in her mind, a tune danced, teasing the edges of memory. It was soft, yet achingly familiar.

Then he appeared on stage. Time seemed to still. The first notes rang out, clear and precise, cascading like water over stones.

She listened intently. Each piece carried mastery, each movement meticulous, but there was a subtle warmth beneath the technique that tugged at her chest. She didn’t recognize him, but there was a resonance she couldn’t explain.

The concert flowed, moving from lively, intricate pieces to slower, introspective movements. Her familiarity grew, a strange comfort settling over her. She felt herself drawn into the music, her soul stirred by something just beyond recall.

And then, the final piece began.

The melody unfolded slowly at first, delicate and haunting. The moment the first notes played, something inside her shifted. Her chest tightened, tears forming unbidden.

This was it,the tune she had hummed in quiet, lonely moments, the one that had haunted her subconscious.

He played as if every note carried a fragment of his past, of hope, of loss, of letters that had never been answered. He did not look toward the audience, yet somehow, she felt the connection, a bridge of sound that bypassed words entirely.

She closed her eyes. The melody matched the tune she had hummed in quiet moments, the one she never understood. Tears pricked her eyes.

Her heart remembered before her mind could.

When the piece ended, silence enveloped the hall. Then applause.

Memories surged in fragments: the letters, the walks through autumn leaves, shy glances, small smiles, and moments of quiet connection that had defined their time together. The boy, the young man whose music had touched her before, was alive in the melody, and with each chord, her memory returned fully.

"Johnny!"

Her voice echoed in the hall with a longing tone.

Johnny looked at the audience, recognizing that voice. The voice he was longing to hear all these years.

He saw a faint outline of a lady stumbling her way in the middle aisle towards him, and all his senses told him to go, run to her.

He ran off the stage into the middle aisle. The audience was stunned to what they are witnessing.

The lights seemed to brighten. And then… he saw her face.

Their bodies moved on its own, running towards each other to a longing embrace.

"Johnny I'm sorry, I have forgotten, but I remember now.. I remember.. I can remember everything now" she cried.

"It's alright now my love, I'm here. Just like I promised. I came for you, my Alice."

Gently holding her face, their lips slowly met in a tender loving kiss.

The crowd roared in applause.

The end.