Stella’s eyes were red, the tears still fresh on her face. Mr. Kennedy, standing before her, seemed to sense the inner turmoil she was battling. For a brief moment, their gazes locked, and it was as though he could see the storm of emotions raging within her. People who cherished art often had pure hearts, and Stella, in that moment, wished she could still hold on to her own innocence.
“The person I am now… I really don’t deserve your piano,” she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. “I know you only make a few pianos a year, and they should go to those who deserve them more than I do.”
Seeing the sincerity in her words, Mr. Kennedy waved his hand dismissively. “Alright, you can go now.”
Stella nodded and turned, her heart heavy. She closed the door gently behind her, and the moment she stepped out into the corridor, her eyes met Weston’s. He was standing there, waiting for her, concern etched on his face. When he saw the redness of her eyes, his frown deepened, and he immediately walked over to her.
“Why are you crying?” he asked softly, brushing away the tears that lingered on her cheeks. His tone was thick with concern. “What did Mr. Kennedy say to you?”
She shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. “Nothing.”
But Weston wasn’t convinced. He moved past her and reached for the door, his eyes flashing with frustration. “What are you doing?” Stella quickly grabbed his hand to stop him.
He turned to her, his expression cold. “Although he’s my teacher, he can’t treat my girl that way.”
Stella shook her head again. “He didn’t bully me,” she explained softly.
“I don’t want to play the piano anymore,” she added, her voice steady, though the weight of the words hung heavy in the air.
“Why?” Weston stopped in his tracks, his voice tinged with surprise. “Don’t you like it?”
She shook her head once more. “Even if there’s a piano at home, I won’t have the time for it. Plus, Mr. Kennedy only makes a few pianos a year. There are so many people waiting for one. I don’t want to take someone else’s place.”
Weston fell silent at her words, his gaze softening when she mentioned “home.” He reached out, his hand gently cupping her face.
“Stop worrying about others,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “If you want it, I’ll get it for you.”
“I really don’t want it now,” she replied earnestly, her eyes sincere.
He couldn’t help but pinch her cheek gently, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. “Stella, when will you stop putting others before yourself?”
Her eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and introspection. It was true—she had always put the needs and desires of others ahead of her own. Her gaze softened, and she whispered, “I won’t do that, ever again.”
The initial plan had been to get Stella a piano, but since she didn’t want it, Weston drove her home instead. The car sped down the highway, the city lights flashing by.
“Where do you want to go next?” Weston asked, breaking the silence.
She shook her head, then turned to face him suddenly. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”
Her words hung in the air, ambiguous and pointed, and for a moment, Weston’s mind wandered. Did she not want to be with him anymore? His frown deepened as he asked, “Do you want me to have something else to do?”
Stella’s eyes flashed briefly, but she didn’t answer. It was exactly what she had meant, but she wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
Skip to content