As soon as the twilight sneaks its light onto the quiet streets of New York, a short-haired girl heavily drops her feet onto the rocky road to her next workplace: Grocery 24h. Head hung low and eyes gaze at some undetermined horizon, there is nothing but an exhausted aura emitting from the seemingly tough woman.

And as if the beautiful sunset disagrees with the human’s neglect, the burning red color of flamboyant flaunts its radiance in the girl’s eyes.

Blink.

Blink.

The painfully happy color is still there.

And it successfully draws Amber back to a sky full of colorful memories. The flamboyant was there when she was still a peaceful little girl who loved wandering around along the red street. The flamboyant was there when she was blissfully safe in her parents’ loving arms. The flamboyant was there with her father’s blinding smile and clusters of the red flower he always brought to her after each business trip. The flamboyant was there at the school she came to everyday, as happy and innocent as a lovebird.

The flamboyant was there when her father died of an accident.

The flamboyant was there when her family went bankrupt.

The flamboyant was there when she had no choice but to stop studying at grade 9.

And the flamboyant is here, on her way to work every day with a tainted mind wanting nothing other than money.

Amber heaves a deep sigh, trying to suppress the single tear threatening to escape the almond eye. Seriously, this kind of romantic feeling can never bring peace to her soul.

Or can it?

Because…out of nowhere, the violin sound echoes. The soothing melody seems to blend with the river and sends flows of emotion into the air. The lonely music is like mourning over some misunderstood and dispised dream even though the tormenting notes want to say the longing flame will never be stamped out no matter what. It’s not angry nor mournful; it’s patient and expectant. It has the power to pierce through the grey clouds in Amber’s mind and sneaks some peace in there, though Amber doesn’t know why, because right now she knows she doesn’t have a hope.

Before she realizes it, her feet is already dragged to the source of angelic sound, which is leaning behind the flamboyant tree.

Feeling someone’s eyes at his back, the violin player slightly turns around, and almost drops his violin to find a small frame with cute button nose looking closely at him. As if being caught red-hand, the boy sheepishly takes back his bow and wanders his gaze to another place, a tint of pink shade hardly seen on his pale chubby cheeks.

Please don't see

Just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies

“Weird” is the first thing ringing through the girl’s head when seeing him. His clothes, which are clearly from some famous brands, are rumpled and dirtied in purpose, and the ruffled nest-like hair is definitely a disguise to cover the good-looking face. Trying not to connect him with the image of a prince in disguise from fairy tales, Amber slightly smiles at him, which seems to catch the boy off guard because she notices how his small eyes cutely broadens when she pats his shoulder and whispers “thank you”.

Leaving a creasy 50 cent note at his violin box (because Amber Liu is always fair), she left, with much lighter feet than before.

Barely does she know she’s just made a heart much lighter, too.

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The next day comes slower than she expects. On the road from 8-hours-as-a-sewing-worker to 4-hours-as-shopkeeper, never does she find her steps that hurried. Will he be there? He doesn’t look like a poor street performer. Will he go back to his rich mansion which he seems to belong to? No, please don’t.

Oh, did she just pray for a stranger?

Sigh, does she really want to hear the violin boy that bad?

Maybe she’ll figure it out later, because right now a bright smile is scattering on her face to see that certain someone sits there amongst lots of street viewers, eyes closing and mind floating with the delightful melody his magic hands create. Amber doesn’t get what makes her happier, the fact that the boy is still there or that he is expressing the aura of a street performer that she knows he’ll stick with this street for a long future time.

And that she’ll get to see and hear his magic sound every day.

Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see
 

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So the days go on like that, with Amber standing far at a corner to watch the musician expressing his soul through music and never forget to leave 50 cents before leaving. There is some miraculous connection between her and him that she can almost “read” his musical language: his eager, his hope, his disappointment, his longing,… And today, doesn’t he sound a bit…nervous?

Closing her eyes to enjoy the music, Amber, as usual, unintentionally taps her hand at the tree and at her own thighs, making some weird noise sounding like drums and beatbox. It’s a habit that the girl never minds much – maybe that’s just how she enjoys music?

Until the violin stops and the magical connection breaks, Amber slowly approaches the box, leaving a note like every day.

But a callous hand stops hers.

And a mellow voice echoes in her ears:

“Can I, Henry, have the pleasure to practice drums and beatbox with you…Amber?”