We never talk to each other. Not even a single hello ever exchanged between us. When we met, we just nod, and then go our own way. He, to the music room, and I, to the drawing room next to it. He is playing my favourite song again. I am listening to in silence, sitting in front of my easel, trying to draw something. Blank. I can't picture any single thing in my head. And then I heard the piano again. Once the melody reached my ear, my hand will automatically scribbled itself on the drawing board. Just like the song, I drew an ever flowing river, dreaming of my secret haven, where I can be there on my own, living happily, without thinking of anything else. I ended the drawing with my sign, as the melody reaching the ritard part.

I held up my head, trying to look at his face through the small glass, at the adjacent door. He was no longer there. I sighed, and packed my things and went back to the classroom.

The same routine happened since that day. Everytime I'm having difficulty to draw, he will play the piano, as if knowing that it will help me, and inspire me to draw something beautiful. I would like to thank him. Yes I should. So, the next day, I slowly walked into the room, along the neatly arranged musical instruments until I arrived at the very end of the room where the piano stood majestically, like the leader of all the instruments.

He wasn't there. The piano was left untouched. I sat on the chair, eyes on the white shining keys. There was a music sheet in front of me. Untitled. I played the first verse, mesmerized by its pleasant melody. I continued until the very last note, losing myself into a beautiful strange world. The ringing bell brought me back to reality. I rushed to the drawing room to get my untouched drawing block.

Back home, I was startled. There was a drawing on the first page of my drawing block. A very neat drawing of a girl, playing a piano. Chilly sweat rushed down my spine. Nothing can describe my feelings. Who could it be? Was it the pianist? Was he in the drawing room today? I can't sleep all night thinking of him, his songs, and his smile...

The next day, I sat on my usual spot, waiting for his music. Quiet. No movement, no sound at all. I was frustrated, and left the room. One whole week went by and I'm losing myself. I can't draw anything. My homework were left untouched. I need inspiration. I missed his melody. I missed him.

I can't take it anymore. I went to the room, to wait for him. He was not there. I played the song that I found last week. I play it repeatedly, as my tears falling down, sharing the sadness in me.

I was totally immersed in that song, that I didn't realize that my music teacher stood there beside me. "How did you know the song? It's been a while that someone played that song since..." the teacher couldn't continue her words. I insisted her to tell me more.

"Since the composer died. This song was composed by my very best student. The most talented pianist I ever met. He wrote this song two weeks before his death, a terrible accident, saying that it was written for a girl who loves to draw in the next room. There wasn't any room next door. Not until this year. I always thought that he was imagining things...and tomorrow is his death anniversary..." I couldn't listen more. Tears are running faster and my hands felt cold, as a chilly breeze suddenly flew into the room, flying all the notes off the piano....