The rain had turned into a steady downpour by the time Lin Xia reached the café. She shook her umbrella and stepped inside, the warmth of the room a welcome contrast to the chilly weather. Gu Yan was already at the piano, his fingers moving effortlessly across the keys. Today, the melody was different—darker, more intense, as if it carried the weight of a storm.
Lin Xia hesitated, not wanting to interrupt. She stood by the door, listening as the music swelled and ebbed, each note resonating with a raw, almost painful emotion. When the final chord faded, she clapped softly.
Gu Yan turned, his expression unreadable. "You're early again," he said, though there was no reproach in his tone.
"I couldn't wait," Lin Xia admitted, taking a seat at the piano. "That piece... it was incredible. What's it called?"
"*Shadows*," Gu Yan replied, his voice quiet. "It's an old composition."
Lin Xia studied his face, noticing the faint lines of tension around his eyes. "It feels... personal," she ventured.
Gu Yan didn't respond immediately. Instead, he placed his hands on the keys and began to play a softer, more melancholic tune. Lin Xia recognized it as the piece he had played during their first meeting—*Rainy Night*.
"Music is a mirror," he said finally, his gaze fixed on the piano. "It reflects what we can't say out loud."
Lin Xia nodded, sensing that he was opening up, even if only slightly. "Is that why you stopped playing for so long? Because the reflection became too painful?"
Gu Yan's hands stilled on the keys. For a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping against the windows. Then he sighed, a deep, weary sound. "Three years ago, I lost someone very important to me," he said slowly. "After that, I couldn't bring myself to play. Every note felt like a reminder of what I'd lost."
Lin Xia's heart ached for him. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she said softly. "But your music... it's so beautiful. It feels like you're keeping their memory alive."
Gu Yan looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. "Maybe," he said. "But sometimes, it's hard to tell if I'm honoring the past or just trapped in it."
The room fell silent again, save for the sound of the rain. Lin Xia felt a surge of determination. "Let me help you," she said. "Not just with the piano, but... with whatever you're carrying. You don't have to do it alone."
Gu Yan studied her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Then, to her surprise, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Alright," he said. "But it won't be easy."
"I don't expect it to be," Lin Xia replied, smiling faintly. "But I think it'll be worth it."
Gu Yan's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and for the first time, Lin Xia felt like she was seeing a glimpse of the man beneath the shadows. He turned back to the piano and began to play again, this time a lighter, more hopeful melody.
As Lin Xia listened, she realized that this was more than just a lesson—it was the beginning of something deeper, a connection that went beyond music. And though she knew there would be challenges ahead, she couldn't help but feel that they were on the right path.