“It means I want you to listen to my heartbeat.”
“Do you really think I’d do something that embarrassing?”
Gyeoul shrieked.
Her face turned as red as a ripe tomato.
A work of classic literature she had read not long ago to cultivate her musical sensitivity flashed through Gyeoul’s mind.
“This is just like…”
The Sorrows of Young Werther.
On the day they first met at the ball, Werther asked Charlotte to dance.
In the fleeting touches that followed, the two felt each other’s warmth. The moment Lotte’s shoe slipped and she lost her balance, Werther caught her and held her up.
In that instant, they felt each other’s breath.
The moment two people fell in love.
The description had been so vivid that even after closing the book, Gyeoul had been unable to calm her pounding heart for a long while.
Gyeoul glared at Seoha.
After saying something so hard to even speak aloud, how could he be so shameless? Seoha’s expression remained serious the whole time.
“Calm down. There’s a reason for this.”
Seoha decided not to tell Gyeoul about “sensory dissociation.”
For an artist, the fear that they might lose their senses would never be forgotten once it was imprinted. So not knowing was for the best.
Therefore, this was the best option.
“Han Gyeoul, I think the trust we’ve built up until now is by no means small.”
Gyeoul glanced at Seoha crookedly.
“Right. That’s why I’m even angrier. I’m being really serious right now, you know?”
“Don’t tell me you think I have some other motive.”
“It’s not that…”
Once her head cooled a little, her reason returned.
Seoha might be a strange kid, but he did not lie.
“It might be a little uncomfortable, but trust me this once.
I believe the problem you’re experiencing can be solved with this method.”
After hesitating for a moment, Gyeoul asked anxiously.
“Can I really get better?”
“Of course.”
What Gyeoul needed was self-assurance.
The human brain had a tendency to accept declarative statements as fact.
“I’ll be able to play onstage like before again, right?”
“You’ll be even better.”
Moreover, if those words came from someone one trusted, the effect would be doubled.
“Okay.”
Gyeoul drew in a deep breath, then nodded as if she had made up her mind.
But what followed was a development even Seoha had not expected.
“Lie down on the floor.”
As if it were only natural, Gyeoul pointed at the floor with her index finger.
“What?”
“Then how am I supposed to listen to your heartbeat? The height doesn’t match.”
Seoha resigned himself.
He had started this, so he had to take responsibility until the end somehow.
“Fine.”
When Seoha lay down on the floor, Gyeoul came closer.
Slip.
Gyeoul’s long hair flowed softly down over Seoha’s shirt.
A pleasant weight pressed down on Seoha’s chest.
Thump, thump.
The regular sound of beating brushed against her ear.
Gyeoul closed her eyes.
Seoha said nothing.
Without moving even a fingertip, he waited for Gyeoul to steady her breathing.
Her shoulders rose and fell faintly, and then the trembling gradually subsided.
“It’s strange.”
“What is?”
“I haven’t done anything in particular, but listening to your heartbeat makes me feel at ease.”
Unconsciously, Gyeoul matched her breathing to that quiet rhythm.
Seoha’s heartbeat and the sound of her own breath gradually interlocked at the same pace.
An unfamiliar sensation.
But soon, that resonance seeped into her body.
‘Whose heartbeat is this?’
Thump, thump.
The two beats slowly connected, and soon she could no longer tell which belonged to whom.
As if they had been one from the very beginning, her heart pumped blood through her entire body in time with Seoha’s breathing.
With her eyes closed, Gyeoul entrusted herself to that flow.
After staying like that for a long while, a change came over her body.
A warm vibration that began in her chest flowed to her shoulders, to her arms, to the tips of her fingers. Then it struck fiercely against the blocked wall.
The heartbeat grew louder and louder.
Thump, thump.
‘H-Hello. My name is Yu Seoha.’
She remembered their first meeting.
She had thought he was just a somewhat cute and bumbling boy, but when she suddenly looked back, he had become someone important.
Reserving a studio for him, anxiously wondering, “Will he be okay today?”
With every beat of his heart, the cords that had bound her loosened.
Now she felt like she understood, just a little, the meaning of what he had said.
‘I need you as much as I need to breathe.’
What the heck.
It wasn’t a confession. It was just a fact?
Thump, thump.
With every beat, the negative thoughts were pushed away.
Gyeoul’s breathing grew rough.
‘Hm?’
Seoha noticed the change in Gyeoul first.
His heartbeat was synchronizing with hers and growing faster.
Her right hand fumbled across the floor, then unconsciously clenched the hem of Seoha’s shirt. Then her body trembled faintly.
Gyeoul was seized by a sensation as though something inside her body was awakening.
A single red wave that began at her heart flowed into her arms, to her fingertips, then returned to her heart, circulating endlessly.
“Ah…”
The fear and terror that had been hindering Gyeoul’s growth shattered into pieces.
And the senses and musical inspiration that had been stopped all this time rushed into her all at once.
The restoration of sensation, artistic awakening, the joy of life.
On top of Seoha’s heart, Gyeoul accepted with her entire body the sudden moment of ecstasy that had found her.
What she had needed was a muse who would become the source of her inspiration. Gyeoul could intuit that today was the moment said to come only once in an artist’s life.
She opened her eyes.
The colors of the world were vivid. The air, the light, the temperature—everything she had been accustomed to until now felt new.
Gyeoul looked at Seoha.
The one and only being in the world who shared a heart with her.
“I want to play the piano.”
She staggered to her feet.
There was still heat in her face, and her body was trembling faintly, but Gyeoul was not afraid of anything.
Seoha held his breath.
Gyeoul’s long hair slowly flowed down over her shoulders.
And then,
Ding—
The first note rang out.
A clear, deep, pristine sound. Seoha realized that her sound had changed from before.
Gyeoul arched her body back as if drawing in a deep breath. And then,
Kwa-gwang—
A passionate performance began in an instant.
It was as if sound were bursting out from within her body.
Gyeoul shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation she was experiencing for the first time.
The notes blooming from her fingertips traveled up her arms, passed through her heart, and flowed back out into the world.
Each and every sound contained life.
The notes entwined with one another and spread like waves.
The air in the room vibrated greatly, riding the waves she produced.
Anxiety and fear had vanished, and now only a longing for music remained in her heart.
Gyeoul’s hands were moving more freely than at any point in the past.
The piece ended.
Gyeoul slowly exhaled with her hands resting on the keys.
“Yu Seoha.”
As Gyeoul wiped away her tears with her fingers, she looked as precarious and beautiful as a newly blossomed petal.
“Yeah.”
She turned and looked straight at Seoha.
“If I ever become unable to play the piano, it’ll probably be because of you.”
“I know.”
Seoha nodded calmly.
Even without putting it into words, the two of them knew what had happened to them.
* * *
[The 1xth Seoul International Music Competition]
“No. 24, Han Gyeoul.”
Click, click.
Low-heeled shoes tapped against the wooden floor of the stage.
Gyeoul was wearing a red satin dress. The stage lights reflected softly off the fabric, making it seem as though light flowed from her as she walked.
Her hair was neatly tied up.
The cleanly exposed line of her neck gave her an elegant yet provocative impression.
Someone whispered from the audience.
“Didn’t she say she was taking a break?”
“I heard she had stage yips…”
“She failed the preliminaries twice. I saw her crying in the waiting room.”
Seoha watched Gyeoul from the best seat.
‘I had no idea it would be such a big competition…’
Looking at the pamphlet, the competition she was attending today was one of the three major competitions in the country.
Gyeoul had received a special invitation as the winner of an international competition.
It had only been two weeks since she had started playing the piano again. Everyone told her to sit this one out, but Gyeoul forced her way into participating.
Gyeoul’s mother had her hands clasped together as if in prayer.
Liszt, Consolations, S.172, No.3 in D♭ major.
As Gyeoul looked toward the audience, her eyes met Seoha’s.
A faint smile appeared at the corners of her lips.
Ta-dan—
Ta ta-da dan.
A major-key melody beginning lightly.
“Oh! Her touch is excellent. Her control of texture and weight is perfect.”
The judge’s admiration.
Seoha also closed his eyes and focused on her music.
Liszt composed a total of six pieces under the title “Consolations.”
They were songs depicting the process by which human beings discover consolation and peace within suffering.
For a competition piece, it was too calm. And yet no one could take their eyes off her performance.
The judges gradually fell into Gyeoul’s playing. Their hands were busily writing down their impressions.
「Rich tone, stable center of gravity」
「Even in complex harmonies, the layers of sound are clearly distinguished」
「Excellent calculation of resonance and ability to control reverberation」
「Natural expression, purely enjoying the music and the performance」
「A sound rising from within; she does not flaunt her technique, yet she is more brilliant than anyone」
Competitions were generally boring.
Because the same pieces had to be heard over and over, the audience’s ears quickly grew fatigued.
But in this moment, everyone in the hall was focused on the sound she produced.
Perhaps because she had suffered so much in her heart, Gyeoul’s mother was crying silently.
The most experienced judge set down his pen and smiled.
“She’s playing with pleasure.”
“When the performer enjoys it, the audience follows.
She’s much better than before. In the past, her technique was already complete, but back then, it felt like calculation came first.”
“Excellent.”
Listening to their conversation, Seoha quietly looked at Gyeoul onstage.
When all the performances ended, the lights brightened by one level.
The murmuring in the audience also gradually died down.
“We will now begin the award ceremony for the piano division of the Seoul International Music Competition.”
The interpreter’s English announcement followed.
The award ceremony proceeded in a solemn atmosphere.
The special prize, third place, and second place passed, leaving only the final spot. The judge opened the envelope.
Gulp.
All the participants looked tense, wondering if their name would be called.
The judge’s mouth slowly opened.
“First place, participant number 24, Han Gyeoul.”
The audience reacted before anyone else. Enthusiastic applause burst from the seats.
“Bravo!”
“Congratulations!”
At the sight of a standing ovation after so long, the judges also wore pleased expressions.
Amid the pouring cheers and flashes, Gyeoul was looking at only one person.
* * *
Gyeoul had come to the music room.
[Music Room A]
In truth, this was not a place she often came to.
That day, the tuning of the piano in the practice room she had reserved had not been good. One note grated on her so much that she simply could not continue practicing.
‘What would have happened if I hadn’t come here that day?’
Rattle.
“Han Gyeoul! You were here again?”
The door opened, and a classmate poked her head in.
“Are you practicing?”
“No, just doing some mind control.”
“You really are unusual. Of all places, in the music room…”
“I feel at ease when I’m here.”
“I guess the music room is like home to you. You’re going to graduate early, right? Where are you going for college? Everyone was curious.”
There was no university Gyeoul could not get into as long as she applied. Therefore, the students wanted to avoid going to the same university as her.
“Juilliard.”
“I knew it! I figured. If you’re aiming for the top of the world, that’s where you have to go. The New York Philharmonic is right nearby, too.”
“…Symphony.”
Gyeoul’s voice was barely audible.
“Hm?”
“The Boston Symphony is there too. It’s only four hours away by car. One hour by plane.”
Her friend looked puzzled.
“Really? You looked up all kinds of things. Let’s go eat.”
Gyeoul shrugged and followed her friend out.