Black is the vacuum we have named a colour. In truth, however, Black is a black hole – no light rays are reflected off Black; rather, they are absorbed. A convergence of light rays creates White, while an absence of light rays is Black.

I trace wondering fingers against the black keys I see in front of me, contrasted ever so starkly against the pure whiteness of the other keys. A little more pressure and a clear, crystal note can be heard ringing through the air, reverberating around the room. Slowly, I inch myself closer to the piano, adjusting my precarious position on the stool to a more comfortable one, gaining confidence that nobody has caught me here yet.

I am no musician. Who in their right minds would think me one? Look at me – worn sneakers, ripped jeans, a faded shirt and torn coat – I hardly look like I should even be in the building. Well, that is true. I snuck in.

As if to emphasise that point, thunder crashes outside, and the whole room flashes white, filling to the brim with light which floods out as quickly as it appeared. Then I hear the pattering.

Footsteps are so interesting. When one is hurried, the pattering of footsteps is rapid and random, the sound of them as panicked as the instrument. Calm footsteps are soft, and you can barely hear any sound they make, especially on the carpeted floor in the corridor. The pattering of the rain’s footsteps, however, is smooth, insistent, and relaxing. As rain beats against the curtained windows, I position my hands over the keys, imagining for an instant that I actually know how to create beautiful music from these elusive keys.

It is there, the ends of my hair still damp from my scamper through the rain, that I fall asleep for the night, on a hard piano stool that makes for the softest bed I have had in weeks.

***

When I slide my eyes open seemingly an instant later, brightness attacks my eyes, and I squint to see clearer. A yawn breaks my mouth open. I arc my back and stretch my hands over my head, loosening a tense muscle in my neck in the process. Finally, I open my eyes lazily – having gotten used to the sudden brightness – and survey my surroundings.

Everything has changed since last night. At some point while I was snoring away, light trickled into the wide room and infused colour and life to everything in it. I glance at the piano keys – even the plain black and white seem brighter in the morning light – in the night they had an almost garish tinge to them. In the reflection of light off the glossy black wood of the piano, I see my eyes, wide open and staring at me – they seem impossibly dark on the inky surface, although their true colour is much lighter. My hair is a mess, as I expected.

A split second later, a door slams.

I am quite surprised to find myself on my feet, having not quite realized that I had stood up. I cross my leg over the high piano stool and swing myself to the other side, away from the piano, and back away from the door, towards a closet in the corner of the room. A door slams again, closer this time. Still rubbing sleep from my eyes, I belatedly realize that this was the sound that pulled me out of my sleep.

Now I hear the sound of footsteps, and they are heading my way. Unlike the rain yesterday, these footsteps are steady and sure – insistent. This person knows what he is looking for. Quicker than I can think about it, I fling myself into the closet and silently shut the door as best as I can from inside. Unfortunately, a rather large gap remains to let light into the closet.

The same gap, however, allows me a view of the room outside too, as the door opens smoothly, and a tawny head pokes in. His head turns, and I see an eye-catching splash of blue on one of his locks. He scans the room briefly. Seemingly coming to a conclusion, the boy straightens up, and takes a step in.

It is then that I see that he is tall, impossibly tall. He has a lithe figure, which makes me think he is a runner, or some kind of athlete. The way he moves, however, tells me that there is something more to him, a certain elusive grace in the way he glides across the floor… Maybe he is a dancer.

He lifts his hand to the piano, frowning to see that it has been left open overnight. Almost lovingly, he lowers the cover down over the pristine keys, protecting them against the elements of dust and must in the room. Then, he turns and taps his finger on the wood impatiently as he looks around the room.

My breath hitches as his gaze runs over the closet I am in, slows, and stops. Grumbling, he makes his way closer. As hands reach for the doorknob, his proximity lets me see the words he is mouthing. Terrified, I shrink back and try to calm my rushed heartbeat. In my head I run through all the possible scenarios that could arise from this – from my being caught in a place where I am not supposed to be. Does this qualify as trespassing? Will I get thrown in jail? Or worse, will I get thrown out into the cold streets again?

Just then, the door to the piano room opens.

“Sungmin!” a voice calls.

I hold my breath a while more, until the boy sighs and turns to the door. As he moves away in response to the call, I totally relax, and let go of the breath I held. For another few minutes, I hold myself there, cramped in my position, until I can be sure that nobody will come back into the room. It is only then that I cautiously step out, to retrieve my backpack from next to the closet.

Feeling slightly bored, I move back to the piano. A whole night has passed, but it still holds fascination for me. I lift up the cover that was closed so recently, and I begin to admire the keys anew. Each one is shaped so perfectly, exactly the same shape, and all neatly tucked into the board. I lay a finger on one and give a gentle push, and a soft, gentle, mellifluous note is produced, loud enough to shock me, but not so that anyone comes running in to investigate the noise.

What I would give to be able to play this instrument.

Sighing sadly, I locate another key with my pinkie and press it again – another pure note reverberates through the air.

“Would you like to learn?”

To say I am surprised by the voice is an understatement. In my hurry to face my companion, I nearly trip over my own two feet, and I end up sprawled on the floor, rather than standing upright like I should be.

At least he looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a shock.”

It is the boy from earlier. What was his name, Sungmin?

“I’m sorry too,” my voice comes out hoarse, since it has been so long since I last used it. Clearing my throat, I try and adapt as quickly as I can to the mechanics of speech. “I actually – erm – snuck in here last night.”

Seeing as he is about to say something, I hastily add on, “Well, you see, it was cold out, and I haven’t a place to stay, and the door to this place is open, and I thought that I could… stay?” I end hopefully.

He grins, throwing me off-balance for a while. “I won’t tell anyone that you snuck in. But you have to play the piano for me in return.”

A frown creases my brows. “But I don’t know how to play the piano.”

The boy shrugs in response. “I’ll teach you, then. I’m Sungmin, by the way.”

I choose not to tell him how I know his name already, and instead introduce myself to him.

Sungmin motions towards the large instrument. “Do you want to start lessons now?”

“Now?”

With his nod, a slow trickle of warmth fills my veins. I have heard the piano played before, and it is a beautiful instrument. Learning to play it will give my life a meaning – I will be able to actually do something useful, like brightening up a room with a melody. I feel myself smiling widely at the boy, and I ignore the butterflies in my stomach telling me that I will embarrass myself.

Let me make mistakes. Mistakes are going to help me learn.

***

“Before we start, could you just play me one song? Any song, maybe… your favourite?” I ask, my nervousness still evident in the quavering of my voice.

Sungmin gives me another unsettling smile, before seating himself beside me on the piano stool. Shocked at his sudden proximity, I wince away from him, off the stool and onto my feet. Catching his curious gaze, I feel my cheeks redden. I shift my eyes to a spot in between my feet and concentrate on the parquet flooring of the room, still aware of his heavy gaze on me.

At the same time, I try to ignore the flashes of black and white that buzz through my head, commanding my attention be directed to a different time, a different place, a different person… No, I must keep my head in the present.

As my eyes stay stubbornly glued to the wooden panels, I feel Sungmin shrug and reposition his fingers. Then he starts to play.

The lilting, complicated melody has me in its thrall from the very first line of notes. My heart gives a tug as I am once again reminded of another, happier time than now. Shaking my head impatiently, I force myself to clear my mind of everything but the music. I studiously keep my gaze away from the mirror, through which I know the boy is looking at me. He must think me such a weird person, but to his credit he keeps playing the song without saying anything.

A short while later and the last few notes fade into silence, but my heart continues beating to the rhythm of the song. Thankfully, before my mind is given a chance to ponder upon the relation of the song to my past, Sungmin begins to speak to me.

“Have you ever played the piano before?”

I open my mouth to answer in the negative, but I find myself saying instead, “Yes, a very long time ago. But I was never very good.”

He smiles at me and offers me the stool so that I may show him what I can play. As I sit myself down, I frown. Have I really played the piano before?

***

The past is whiteness. That terrible kind of white you see when you close your eyes and light shines directly on your eyelids. Sometimes things would flash, here and there, and I would get a glimpse of colour, but most of the time it is just white. I think that if I tried hard enough, I could regain my memory, but something in me just refuses to let that happen. Every single time I feel myself slipping back into the recesses of my mind where those memories are stored, I recoil.

Like when Sungmin’s closeness reminded me of someone else’s closeness; the way the melody struck a chord within me, declaring to me that I had heard it before… And just now, when reflexively I had said that I knew how to operate a piano.

Could I really do it?

Maybe.

But then again, how could I know?

My first memory had taken place mere weeks ago.

***

“Move!”

I moved. A middle-aged lady glared at me as she stormed by. Feeling suddenly faint, I clutched at the nearest lamppost for support. Where was I?

The street teemed with people of all sorts. It seemed like the type of road which would be crowded no matter the time of day. Frowning, I took a few tentative steps towards a nearby bench. My feet worked. So I knew how to walk.

But did I know who I was? I glanced at all the people walking along the street. Each and every one of them seemed so sure of themselves… it was like a warped dream where you had been flung into some kind of dreamlike, fantasy world. Only this world was real. But the same questions that plague people in dreams plagued me now – how did I get here? How long had I been here? What was I doing here?

And the most important – who was I?

I looked down next to me and found a bag. It looked familiar. Standing up, I grab the strap of the bag, fling it over my shoulder, and begin walking. I melt into the crowd.

Just another face.

***

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and start pushing keys on the piano. If I get it wrong, I get it wrong, I figure. But I don’t. I play the exact same piece that Sungmin was playing earlier, and I play it correctly. I don’t know how I can, but I play, nevertheless.

And as I play, I remember.

***

Pain. That is almost all I am aware of now. Pain, and loss. Or the pain of loss. I don’t know exactly, and I don’t honestly care. I just want it to end. I squeeze my eyes shut as memories flood my head, and my fingers freeze up on the keys of the piano. The waterfall that is my life pours into my empty head, bring with it age-old feelings and emotions that fill it to the brim.

Ryeowook.

The first time I laid eyes on him; the first time I saw him smile at me, so carefree and joyful it swept me off my feet; the look on his face when he nervously asked me out to dinner; our first date; him teaching me to play the piano, one of his hobbies – he was so passionate about music that I caught his influence; the feeling of him pressing himself close to me so that we both could fit on the stool; his fingers flying as he played the song I asked him to teach me…

Wasting away on a thin, narrow cot; tubes connected to him filled with transparent liquid that seemed to sap the colour from his beautiful face; the rocking and bucking of the large vehicle that is the ambulance; his eyes as I cry down at him; his eyes that gaze at me with so much love; his eyes that never leave my face; his eyes that hold me as his last memory, his last sight…

His eyes, which I will never see again.

An agonized cry leaves my mouth as I hunch myself over the piano, cradling my head as pieces of my life fit together. I had forced myself to forget the pain, because I didn’t want to remember it. The pain that made my life meaningless, that leeched the colour from my life and filled it with deep, never-ending blackness…

I took the coward’s way out – I ran away from the pain. And now it has caught up to me.

***

I am suddenly aware of Sungmin shaking my body gently. Slowly, I raise my eyes to his, and I feel hot liquid spill down my cheeks. Without my noticing, he has arranged himself on the stool next to me. He draws his arms around me in a protective embrace, holding me steady as I shake.

“Shh,” he murmurs softly. “I know you miss him.”

Stunned, I pull myself away from him to look into his eyes. “You know me?”

He just smiles at me, and the gears of my head work to piece the puzzle together. I groan as more coloured flashes attack my head, but eventually I place him. Sungmin, Ryeowook’s best friend, and the boy I had known from my childhood. He was always there for me, even when I didn’t want him to be. He was with me the night Ryeowook died, too. He witnessed the car accident that knocked him down.

I gasp at the realization, and he seems to understand that I recognize him now.

“I visited you at home a few weeks ago, but you refused to respond to anything. You worried your parents so much, you know. You’re still worrying them. They don’t know where you are, or if you’re even alive, and you can imagine what that’s doing to them,” he explains, pausing to let this sink in. “Then I saw you here, and I realized that you’d forgotten everything.”

“How did you know?” I whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“From the way you looked at the piano. After he… Well, you know… After that, you never wanted to touch a piano, ever again. It reminded you too strongly of him, and you didn’t want the pain. When I saw you here, playing a few keys, that wondrous expression on your face, I knew that you couldn’t have been thinking of Ryeowook. So I knew you had forgotten.”

I bow my head, still leaning on him.

“Your parents are worried. You should get back.”

Suddenly, something clicks in my head.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

He looks almost surprised. “I knew what?”

“You knew that getting me to play the piano, to play that song, would get me to remember?”

Sungmin just smiles, again, but sadly this time.

Looking at him, in that moment, I feel a little of the pain slip away. Just the tiniest bit, but enough to let a little of colour slip into my life. Just a little. At the same time I realize that all along, Sungmin was the one who knew me inside out.

***

Life isn’t about black or white. It’s about the colour you enjoy along the way.

So, what do you guys think? ^^ I just wrote this... for the sake of writing I guess. Plus, I apologise for any grammar/spelling errors! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it :)

--Ces