"Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue."

"Correct."

"You, next."

"I, uh, Debussy's Sunken Cathedral."

A sharp rap of knuckles against his head.

"Wrong."

"It's Schubert. Fantasy in F minor." 

He didn't know if he was infatuated - or perhaps really in love. Her high, soft voice, though she rarely spoke, created undulating waves in him. Her skills on the keyboard were undeniably superb, and she had an aura of charm around her, though the ice in her personality radiated through most of the time. Being the top two piano students in the music academy brought about tiring additional training, but he was grateful that he was being invested in, alongside her. 

She was untouchable, and he knew it very well himself. The daughter of the academy's headmaster - a musical genius, no doubt - but aloof and showed no willing signs of interacting with him. Almost everyday, he returned to his dormitory room, deflated, having failed the auditory recognition tests due to lack of insight (too busy staring at her at the piano from across the room) and ignored like a pollen grain. On another note, spring was in full swing, and his dreams were filled with her - smiling, dancing amongst fields of flowers.

He'd only seen her smiling once, when her Yamaha piano had been replaced by a much sturdier Steinway. Her fingers had flowed like silk over the ivory keys. Maybe it was then that he had started to fall, just a slightest bit, for her.

He peeked over at her; she was peering over a manuscript that looked like Beethoven. Then, he proceeded to flush red when he realised it was in fact Mozart's 12 Variations on "Ah Vous Dirai-Je Maman" in C major, K265 (K300e). This was making him lose his focus, and he winced when he felt the thump of a wooden ruler on his head. "Ah, Mr Song Jaerim, shall we hear your rendition of Chopin's Nocturne, which I assigned to you as practice material?" Crap.

His fame (notoriety) stemmed from lack of practice, but he was a master at improvisation, and could always (almost) fool the professors. Exhaling deeply, he played the first bar according to score, then began to veer off course, striking notes of his very own composition, and he was sure Chopin would be turning in his grave now. 

He finished with a flourish, breathing heavily from the intensity. Chopin was difficult, and he made a mental note. He could feel her haughty gaze boring into his side, and when he turned, he was surprised to see a faint smile of amusement on her face. He grinned at her, eyes crinkling, but she went expressionless at the sight of the silly face he was pulling. Then, the Professor clapped and he snapped back to reality. "Not bad, though you obviously didn't practice. The whole chunk in the middle was improvised." Jaerim grinned. He had bullted quite a bit more than that.

He got sent home with a heated scolding and threats of expulsion unless he would actually get his off his high seat and practise more - really, he was just lazy - but his head was in the clouds at the remembrance of the smile that had graced her face.

It was an Autumn morning, and he was running late. The misty air was thick, and he clutched his books tightly, sprinting like a gazelle, because three demerit points to his already extremely ugly report card would do him no good. It was cold, and he was freezing, but four minutes to get dressed didn't really leave room for him to think of gloves. The pedestrians parted like Moses and the Red Sea, because the last thing they wanted would be to crash into a demented, running student with Bürgmüller's Complete Volume of Sonatas.

It took an equally busy businessman trying to read the daily papers while biting down on a sandwich for him to crash and fall, books scattering everywhere, one landing on his foot and eliciting a huge yelp. The man had left almost as if nothing had happened (how much of a rush must he have been in?), the half-eaten egg sandwich smattered on the walkway the only evidence that had been left behind. Cursing his luck, he sighed, resigned, and began to pick up his fallen belongings. the timing, he was going to be late anyway at this rate, so he took his time. A breeze passed his side, and he looked up to see a very familiar figure walking briskly past him, visibly flustered, with a little frustration mixed in. "Soeun!" He called, struggling to stand up, but dropping his books and slipping onto his once again. Great, way to go, Song Jaerim, totally smooth. 

She glanced back, and looked down at her watch. "I know, we're really late," he hobbled over, scores balanced precariously on his arm. "I was just thinking of ditching." Her narrowed eyes were more than enough indication, but he placed an arm around her waist and made what he thought would be a cute face. "Skip with me? For once?" A disgusted expression crossed her face at his pout, but he exaggerated it further, and she laughed, a pleasant surprise this early in the day. He felt his heart swell up, and then melt like an ice cube when she nodded, shyly, once, twice. 

She offered him a glove, and he flushed red, gripping her bare hand with his, slipping it onto the other. "Have you had breakfast?" He asked, strolling down the street, Autumn leaves crunching under their shoes. 

"No," she answered, squeezing his hand a little tighter as an icy draft blew across, shivering.

He bundled her into a nearby café which was almost empty after the early morning rush, ordering two coffees and wincing at the price. Goodbye, pocket money, he thought, as he dug deep into his pockets for bills, carrying the two mugs of steaming liquid back to the table and adding the two cubes of sugar he knew she liked.

They sat, and he contemplated over a conversation starter. 

"Did you choose to play the piano?" He asked, in a low tone.

"No," she sipped at the hot beverage, glancing out of the window with dreamy, unfocused eyes. "I wanted to be a swing dancer, but my father forbid me from it after my mother passed away."

He fell silent for a moment, letting her bask, before he said in a heavy voice, "Neither did I. I was an artist before this, I rarely sketch nowadays."

"We gave up everything for a keyboard, didn't we?" 

"Yeah, we did, but it brought us together, didn't it, princess?" He added a wink in for emphasis, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

She shot him a dirty look. "Princess," she repeated, cringing.

"Well, if you want to become a Queen then you'll have to bear me a child," 

He ducked just in time as a thick "J.S. Bach's Compilation of Preludes and Fugues" flew over his head.

(Both of them got a detention, staining her perfect record, but hey, she laughed.)

"A duet has been scheduled for the recital, and I have chosen Mozart's Sonata for Two Pianos in D, K448. Work on it."

"Professor, I have had a prior task assigned to do a duet with Junho sunbae from the woodwind department."

"Soeun, anyone can replace you for the duet with the flute. I want you in something purely on the keyboard - you're a piano major."

"But-"

"Do not argue with me, and learn it up by today. Memorise it by Thursday. I want it at recital standard after the weekend."

With that, he left them alone to practise. (Really, what was the Professor being paid for when all he did was go for extended coffee breaks?)

An awkward silence spanned the room for minutes, before he finally cleared his throat. "Do you, do you, uhm, not want to perform with me? I could tell the professor to let you do the woodwind due-"

"It's okay. Let's get to it," she replied, her soft voice light, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

"You sure?"

She gave him a pointed look that required no verbal communication. He gulped, and flipped the manuscript open.

(He tried to practise, he really did, but improvisation was a bad habit of his. It didn't matter anyway, she always fit the cadences perfectly into whatever he played, because she was just this talented.)

The recital was held in the Headmaster's mansion, and various prominent musical figures had been invited to witness the best at the academy perform. He was undeniably nervous, and his hands were clammy, extraordinarily so. Soeun looked like her skin was on too taut as well, sitting ramrod straight, but she looked celestial, hair tied up into a bun, pearl-colored gloves over her hand to her elbow. Her gown was flamboyant, like one a dancer would wear, pure white from her collarbones to just above her knees, the skirt flaring beautifully and complementing her slim figure.

He squirmed around in his suit, feeling out of place.

She glanced over at him, catching his gaze, and made no move to speak, simply looking, her face expressionless, not betraying the nerve-wrecking fear he knew they both felt. 

(They were worried over nothing, though, because when they concluded their performance, the applause was deafening. He was grinning, in the flashlights of the pretty cameras, but she held onto his hand, tightly, and no smile graced her face.)

The crowd dispersed for dinner and an intermission, wandering off towards the buffet tables and the dance floor. He stood, alone, by the fountain, searching for Soeun. She had disappeared, right after the performance.

A tap came, on his shoulder.

"Looks like someone found himself a dance partner," the flamboyant violin prodigy that was Head Monitor of the strings department - what was her name again? - spoke to him in a sugary voice dripping honey. He was intimidated, and a little overwhelmed by her appearance, for she seemed to have popped out of nowhere and had seated herself opposite him, a place he had reserved for Soeun. "Mm," he hummed, scanning the room for her, as the girl from strings continued to speak. "I've heard you on the piano before, and you're way more skilled than the Director's daughter. Wonder why you're both in the same program. Favouritism, maybe. Hello, hello? Earth to you!" He didn't fall back to attention until he felt the snap of fingers right under his nose and lifted his head to a very annoyed girl staring back at him. "Oh. Yeah. Right." He muttered, and yelped as she tugged him in the direction of the ballroom dance floor. "Let's dance!"

He was pulled amidst waltzing, twirling couples moving slowly to Camille Saint-Saens' The Aquarium (The Carnival of the Animals), and grimaced at the loud blabbering of the girl holding his wrist in a death grip. His height gave him an advantage, and he peered around for Soeun, unable to spot her in the crowd. He moved distractedly, wondering where she could have gone. A twist of the foot, a scream from his dance partner as he stepped on her heel, and they were almost tumbling to the floor in the moment he had spaced out. This position was not much better, for he had to curve an arm under her to support both their weights, and her lips ghosted across his cheek. The couples around them who had heard the commotion gathered around them, smiling suggestively, starting a small chant of "kiss, kiss, kiss......" 

He made a face, but the violin girl - whatever her name was - was grinning, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "You know," she began, "if you wanted to kiss me that much, you could have just told me." The chanting became just a slight bit louder, and he forced himself to think of ways to get out of this sticky situation. At the corner of his eye, he spotted an elegant figure - one dressed in white - stopping by at a counter and ordering a drink. Soeun turned, cast him a glance, and her eyes travelled down to the girl he held, before collecting her teacup and walking towards the East Wing. "Wait, hold on," he said, letting go of the waist he held. The girl crashed to the floor, utterly appalled, and he gaped, apologizing profusely, before slipping out of the confused mass of huddled couples and sprinting off in the direction Soeun had taken.

There she was, sitting in the balcony, a good distance away from the noise and festivity of the ballroom, looking up at the moon with a half-filled teacup left forgotten on a saucer. The pale yellowish glow outlined her slender frame, and he cleared his throat, softly, to let her know of his arrival. She said nothing, simply sipped at the beverage, as he took a seat opposite her, and gazed in the same direction. The moon seemed closer than ever from their elevated position, and she seemed like an ethereal being from the further planets, out there in the vast Milky Way. 

"I didn't kiss her." Once the words had left his mouth, he mentally berated himself for sounding so stupid.

He peeked up at her face. "I didn't ask." Her eyebrows were raised in what seemed like amusement. 

"Uh, I mean,"

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you tell me that?"

"I, well, um, didn't want you to get any wrong ideas."

She didn't reply, but she had an adorable, quizzical expression on her face, egging him to go on. 

This was embarrassing.

"Whenever I think of you and that tall sunbaenim from the woodwind department going out on dates together, him calling your name," he mumbled, looking down and hiding his face behind his fringe, unable to continue. 

She tilted her head so she could see his face then, and she was smiling. One of those rare, small grins that were absolutely breathtaking and always managed to captivate him. He was in subtle shock, moving to rest his chin on a hand so he could get a better view of her elation. 

As quickly as it had appeared, the smile was gone, and she resumed sipping what he had assumed to be grapefruit tea from her teacup. Comfortable silence returned.

"Have you gone through the Gershwin Anthology with the Professor?" 

"What?" He gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Did she really just talk to me on her own accord?

"Stop staring." 

He flushed red, like a ripened tomato. "I'm sorry, um, yeah," he averted his eyes, but found himself sneaking glances and catching her gaze unawares, which made his cheeks burn all the more.

"Did you go through the book?"

"I did." He answered awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck and letting the reply hang thickly in the air. 

"Follow me." A simple two words, but he was more in awe at a slender hand she had extended out to him. Pale, soft skin hidden underneath a removed glove, waiting for him to slip his own digits into the spaces between her fingers. She looked up at him expectantly, and despite his beating heart, he grabbed her hand.

They walked slowly down the spiraling corridors, and he felt like they were waltzing, lightly, to the rhythm of an unnamed Chopin piece. She stopped before the sprawling music library, pushing the wooden door open softly. "Come in," 

He followed behind her as she perused through shelves of music scores, searching for a book intently. She extracted a familiar, thin volume with a white cover, handing it to him. "The Gershwin Anthology?" He enquired, and she nodded. "Since you've finished it, it should be a piece of cake. Play it from cover to cover tomorrow during free practice and I will consider going out with you." 

He gaped, again.

What? 

She was smiling, too. 

He barely registered her fingers on his shoulder, a burning touch where they landed, and the kiss she placed on his temple. His heartbeat was roaring in his ears, and he swallowed, unable to produce any words as she mock-curtseyed with a small "see you tomorrow", that amused smile still present, turning down the corner and moving gracefully back into the confines of the mansion. 

It took a good while for him to snap back to reality, and he shouted into nothingness, "I will do it! I can do it!" A silly grin spread itself across his face, and he felt happiness bubbling in him like froth as he clutched the book tightly to himself, touching the place on his temple where she had kissed, then squealing internally like a little kid with a toy.

He had made her smile thrice by the time they turned eighteen, and hey, that wasn't too bad of an achievement. 

Making his way back to the dormitory, strolling casually under the dim streetlamps, saturated with love. 

He sighed, humming Brahms' 6 Piano Pieces: No. 2 - Intermezzo, Op. 118 under his breath, and grinned, feeling like the composer had when he had penned his tenderness down into a song for Clara Schumann. 

'S Wonderful.