Walking home, late one night, I saw him in the shadows. From behind, I first noticed his curious posture, back curved, head slightly bent and tilted to the left. "Curious", I thought. Who would hold themselves like that? Then I walked halfway around him to get a better look. The mystery was elucidated. He was resting his face on a beautiful black violin, cheek pressed against the soft polished wood, eyes closed, as if this was the most comfortable position for him. He had not even heard me, my footsteps, the rustling of my coat, let alone a single breath escaping my lips. Why is that?

Suddenly, he opened his eyes. There. A pair of beautiful brown eyes to match the beautiful thick brown hair that ran to his shoulders, like a waterfall. Still he did not see me. Staring straight ahead, he gently lifted the bow and put it on the strings of the intrument. Then, he started to play. How can I describe what I heard? I could tell you it was sad. Very sad. It made my heart break, brought back all the painful memories of my life, as if by playing his music, he was evoking the past. The sorrowful melody brought tears to my eyes. Like little droplets of rain, they slowly ran down my face. And still, he did not see me. Seeming as if in a trance, transfixed by the music, he continued his somber violin solo, brushing the bow against every string, hitting the perfect note every time, with an unnatural speed and agility. I had never witnessed any living being playing the violin with such skill as he had. I was amazed and yet afraid. Was this normal? Still, I found myself glued to the spot. I dared not move, for fear of missing but one note. I dared not utter one word, for fear I would interrupt his little piece and put an end to this exquisite yet mourful song.

Looking at his face again, I noticed something peculiar. He seemed completely at peace. Even though the sadness of this music was tearing up my soul, this moment only seemed to procure him perfect calm and tranquility. Though I was dreading it, the end of the composition was near, I could tell. His bow was striking the chords slower and slower and finally, there was nothing but the silence of the night. My heart ached for more, yet I knew it was time for me to leave. I had errands to take care of, a family to go home to. Oh, but that music! My heart was completely lost in it. I forgot all of the world around me except the violinist, his melancholy melody and I.

I saw him again. But it was not by pure coincidence. I sought him out. I needed to hear more of that divine melody. From the moment we parted, the moment I walked away, his music had haunted me, the tune repeating endlessly in my head. I knew every single part, every single note. I remembered them all. Had I had a violin, had I known how to play one, I would have reproduced the song entirely, played it out over and over again. I knew it. It had become a part of me. However, it was not enough. I needed more, wanted more, had to have more. And to lose myself in the music, to close my eyes, block my ears to all sounds but the sounds of those notes is all I truly longed for. I wanted to feel the energy, absorb the fire of the violin’s voice.

It was late, after midnight, approximately the same time I saw him last. Finding my way to the exact same spot, I stopped in my tracks, noticing something in the shadows. As if he’d read my mind, he was there, waiting to play for me. Only this time he faced me. Without any words uttered between us, he proceeded to do just what I’d came to see him do. Bending his head gently to rest it on the instrument, he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the bow and applied lightly on the strings. He was ready. In quick and swift strokes, the notes came high and acute. The violin cried out, releasing the melody. He has seized my heart, my soul, my emotions, the music taking hold of me, playing with me like I was a puppet. I had utterly surrendered. Closing my eyes, I stood on the spot, swaying, almost falling, my legs getting weak. I could feel his fire, feel him speaking to me through the music. The melody was sad yet joyful, as if the violinist felt both at the same time, not able to make up his mind for one or the other. All the while I wondered “who am I?”, “where am I?””. I couldn’t recall. I had become the music and lost sight of myself. It was intoxicating, like a drug. I never wanted it to end and it didn’t seem like it would. He kept playing and playing, the melody seemingly endless, eternal. I could feel his passion for the music, his fever for it, like a heat emanating from him and coming to touch my skin, a power that was palpable, real. It slowly surrounded me, enveloping my body like a blanket, warming me, comforting. My eyes still closed, I sighed, relaxing into it, feeling it and savouring it with every inch of my skin, wrapping my arms around me. My senses opened to this new experience.

I could have stayed forever if he hadn’t let me go. The music has stopped and I hadn’t even known. I had been a prisoner of that moment and had never wished to be freed. But, gradually, I felt it, his hold on me diminishing, dissolving and then, it was completely gone.

I opened my eyes. It was the dead of night, the sky a deep indigo blue, the moon emitting its cool glow. He was gone and I hadn’t even seen him leave! For a moment, I was frantic, not able to decide what to do. Finally, I walked away, thinking it was the only action I could take.

The next night, I came back. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen. I did this every night with no luck. I did this every week, but he never came. I waited patiently for hours in the gloom of twilight. My search was in vain. I never saw him again.