There was the piano, sombre, gleaming with the spotlights glazing on the jet black surface, effacing the garrulous crowd that was discussing about the last pianist, how magnificent was he, how he turned the hall into his garden of music, how good a pianist he was.

I stood at the aperture facing the piano, my heartbeat was palpitating, my hands were quivering, cold sweat was beading down my neck, leaving my spine overwhelmed by the fear of not performing better than the previous guy.

My steps were slow, taking smaller strides, as my first time on stage. I bowed to the audience who were silent as a gesture of respect to me, but inside them, they were still astounded by the previous guy.

I adjusted myself, comfortably on the piano, conquering my fear, my fingers weaved a miracle that left them jaw dropped.

Bowed, no response.

Slow claps, scattered.

As I paced into the back stage, there tumultuous cheers from behind, I was on cloud nine, my heart sprang with joy.

My hands began to tremble as my feet lost its energy to support me. I slumped to the ground, exhausted, venting my feelings through the piano.

Giving the crowd the moment that they could not forget, giving them the best that I could, showing them my true colours, playing for someone, hoping she would hear me, this was why I play the piano.

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