I toss away another music sheet for the gazillionth time. I can’t think of anything! My mind is completely blank, and I can’t come up with a theme or catchy tune, either.
I can’t even ask Lora for help because we’re both practically participants. We shouldn’t be looking at each other’s pieces like we used to do when we had homework. Not that she would mind, but she hasn’t come up with anything yet. She’s probably in her room right now, scratching her head over a pile of crumpled papers on the floor, too.
This was the time I usually asked Kristoff. He didn’t care if we were contenders and always helped me. He was never interested in winning any of it. Even though it was late at night, I would usually call him.
I’d call him whenever I was down. He would give me advice whenever I needed an idea or inspiration. And whenever I needed someone other than Lora to listen to how my day went.
When I look at the wall clock, it’s already nine in the evening. That means I’ve been sitting at my desk for three hours and haven’t made any progress.
Should I reach out to Kristoff?
No, no. I can’t do that. It’s not a smart move. He’ll misunderstand. He’ll probably think I’m reconsidering the breakup.
Or should I call Julian?
Nope. That’s something I can’t do either. I’d already bragged I would not seek his assistance in this matter. Because this competition was his idea, it would seem that I was cheating.
I recall his lessons from the previous weeks. I pull out my notebook, flip through the pages, and read everything I scribbled during those classes.
An inspiration strike.
What I need is a theme. If I want to win, I need to write something different from the usual music I’ve written in the past. My songs are dedicated to my parents. However, I need to think outside the box. Listeners are always looking for something new... something more deeply felt.
My phone suddenly beeped.
It’s an email.
From John Pitch.
What?
I scratch my eyes with my fingers to see if I’m hallucinating. I double-checked the subject and the email address.
No, I’m not mistaken.
It’s not from Mr. Melnard, but from Mr. John Pitch himself, with the following subject: From John Pitch to Ms. Anya Scott.
Oh my God! He never emailed me.
But why?
My heartbeat quickens abnormally, and my fingers tremble with excitement and apprehension.
I don’t open the email and dash next door to show it to my best friend. I rap on her door.
“Lora! Please open the door.”
“What is it?” she shouts back.
“I’m sorry, but could you please come out?”
“Coming!” She opens the door a few seconds later. She appears irritated as she scratches her head. “What’s the rush?”
“My benefactor emailed me.”
She frowns. “What?”
“I mean, he emailed me, Lora. Not Mr. Melnard, but him. This is the first time.”
Shock spreads across her face. “Really?”
I grin. “Really.”
“What did he say?”
“I haven’t looked at it yet.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps you could read it for me. Please, I’m about to pass out. Look!” I raise my arms to show her my goosebumps. “I’m shaking like a leaf.”
“Are you sure? Weren’t you supposed to do the pleasure? You’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
“That is why! I feel like hyperventilating.”
“Let’s open it together,” she suggests. “Did you ask him to meet with you?”
“Not yet.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on! Just open it.”
I click on the subject and begin reading with my quivering lips.
Greetings,I’ve been reading all of your messages since the beginning. Your emails to me are always enthusiastic, and I’m glad you are having a good time at Whitlock School of Music. I’d like to congratulate you on your accomplishments over the last two years and wish you the best of luck in the upcoming competition in collaboration with Sebastian Records. The school sends me reports on the students in my scholarship program, and I applaud your academic achievements.Because I care about every scholarship student, I make certain that every email is read. So, if you feel compelled to inquire about something else or seek advice, please do so. Dean will gladly assist you.Ms. Anya Scott, the final message in this email is important. I plan to attend the competition to watch you play, so I hope you win. Sincerely,John PitchI can’t stop crying as I read the entire email. Lora is also sniffling beside me. Is this how my benefactor is encouraging me? Finally emailing me as himself for me to perform better?
“That’s so sweet,” says my best friend.
“Mm.”
She dabbed her eyes with her fingers. “But hey, this means he’ll see you! Isn’t that incredible?”
“He didn’t say he’ll meet me.”
“He will! You’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Only if I win.” I sniff back my tears.
She frowns. “You’re not going to pass up this opportunity, are you?”
I shake my head. “You have no idea how much his answer means to me. This shows that he cares.”
“He did say that in the email. But I’ll do everything I can to win, too, though.” She crosses her arms and smiles at me.
I giggle. “Even better. If you win, I’ll be the proudest.”
“Me, too, Anya.” She wraps her arms around me.
***
Julian explains how there are no actual rules in songwriting, but there are some tools we can use. Like the prosody.
“The study of poetic sounds and rhythms is known as prosody. Music is poetry. It is also the stress and intonation patterns in a language. This essentially means, ‘does everything fit together?’ Everything in your song should serve the same purpose. It is to express the essential emotion, central idea, and vital purpose of your song. Aristotle first expressed the impression of prosody when he said, “Every great work of art exhibits the same characteristic.””
Julian’s lectures, as usual, have a way of grabbing your attention. All he has to do is stand there, and everyone will listen. His lessons are simple to grasp because he does not simply read from a textbook but instead provides a thorough explanation and example.
“We don’t just put anything that doesn’t belong in our song,” he continues. “It has to support the message of the emotion because the song is there to express. Everything has to work together. It must be cohesive. That’s what we’re going to talk about today...”
The topic is discussed for another half hour before Julian shows us an example of his impromptu songwriting on the board, which is already exquisite. To supplement his lecture, he plays some chords on the piano.
He’d occasionally smile at me when he looked in my direction. Others may believe he’s in a good mood. Whenever our eyes meet, my stomach flurries.
I texted him after class to see if I could meet him today. Julian said ‘yes’ almost immediately.
My heart sings with joy.
Lora invites me to the cafeteria, but I kindly refuse. I don’t want to see Kristoff, either. He is back in class after missing a few weeks. I also thought he was spying on me whenever he glanced my way. He’s also more reserved than usual. I know he had a rehearsal with the quartet today as well.
My feet carry me to Julian’s office, where I quickly look around before knocking. Another problem is that I can’t do this too often, or people will wonder why I’m searching for the professor so frequently. I last visited his office last week, on the day we...
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Warmth rushes through my body as I recall the night we made love—how his hand expertly touched me as he poured his mouth all over me, thrusting his cock into me and making me come.
Damn.
A tingle moves through my stomach as I anticipate finally being alone with him. We hadn’t seen each other in two days, and it was the weekend. He hadn’t texted me, and I was preoccupied with my new composition.
I knock on his door. The door opens almost instantly, and the next thing I know, I’m being pulled inside.
Julian’s palms automatically fly to my cheeks and kiss me deeply. His lips are bruising my mouth, and I can’t breathe. Above his muscular biceps, I clutch the fabric of his shirt. The fluttering in my stomach intensifies. He completely caught me off guard.
“Wait. Julian,” I say quietly between our mouths.
“I don’t think I can keep hiding you here like this much longer,” he whispers. “But you look stunning today. I’ve missed you terribly.”
“Don’t worry, no one noticed me coming here. But why haven’t you called?”
“I was actually waiting for you to call,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on mine. He’s so breathtaking. I still can’t believe this isn’t a dream, although we’ve already been intimate.
“I thought about calling you, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m sorry for the other day,” I say, referring to our planned dinner on Friday.
“I know, and we didn’t get a chance to talk about it.”
“About that. I felt bad that Kristoff didn’t know.”
Julian gives a slight nod, his face displaying a hint of concern. “Are you going to give him a second chance?”
I sigh. “I knew you were worried about it.”
“Because your decision is important to me. I will respect whatever you decide.”
“Did you think I would?”
He runs his thumb across my bottom lip and looks at me more closely. “I need to know where I stand. You heard what he said, and I don’t think he lied. You didn’t call me over the weekend, so I assumed—”
I reach his height and kiss his lips, preventing him from speaking. “I’ve missed you too.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not going back to him. Even if I eventually forgive him, I choose to be with you.”
He exhales, and the tension in his shoulders dissipates. He pulls me against him and wraps a warm embrace around me. “Thank God. Do you realize how much you drive me crazy?”
I hug him back, drinking his scent in. “You do the same to me.”
“Hey.” He gently cups my face. “I don’t think we can keep meeting this way. Not only am I jeopardizing my career, which I was well aware of prior to pursuing you, but this is also dangerous for you. You will be expelled if someone notices.”
“What?” I scowl hard in disbelief. “I thought you said—Wait. Please don’t tell me it is you who’s ending this?”
He laughs heartily. “That’s not what I meant, precious. I meant in here.”
“So I won’t be able to see you here again except in the classroom?”
“I gave you the passcode to my place. You know my schedule, so come to the penthouse whenever you want. We’ve already discussed this.”
“We did, but I didn’t think you were serious. You want me to come to your house? What if I’m a thief?”
His jaw twitches. “Are you a thief, Ms. Scott?”
I snort. “What could I possibly take from you? Oh, what about your portraits? I’m sure they’re worth a lot of money,” I joke.
His eyes sparkle. “There you have it.”
“Wait, are you sure you’re okay with that? Julian, this is your personal space. I mean, how am I supposed to go there whenever I want? What if you’re busy? I don’t want to bother you.”
“I can make an exception for you. Regardless of how busy I am. Or would you prefer I come to yours?”
“You are welcome to come to mine, but you know I have a housemate.”
He reaches his hand around my waist and lifts me. “I can definitely make love to you there, but I don’t think you’ll be able to scream my name when you cum, right? Given how frequently I intend to do so.”
A twitch runs down my inner thighs. I can’t imagine what Lora would say if she witnessed that. “Yep, you’ve got the point.”
“I’ll have a new driver pick you up after class. Kristoff knows Fred.”
“You’re giving me a chauffeur? But you know I can just—”
“It’s necessary,” he cut to my words. “Don’t you want to see your boyfriend every day?”
Boyfriend“I want to see you every day, but having my boyfriend provide a driver for me is too much.” I’m worried that if he continues to spoil me, he’ll eventually tire of me and leave.
“That is more convenient, please. But we’ll get to that later, okay?” He leans in and kisses my mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”