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She always remembers what he said.
She remembers, everyday. When she wakes up and when she goes to sleep. When someone says something awful, and when she's had a rough day.
August said,
you're like an angel.
Eight years later- she is sixteen, almost a woman, still a girl.
August is nineteen. He lives with his parents, without the slightest desire for independence that is the trade mark of his age. He's still attending Julliard, although he already got his degree and led a few concerts. He even composed a movie theme. There's a worry that it's much pressure on such a young person. He told her, there are lots of things he has yet to learn.
How humble, she thinks, sometimes.
How humble, that he still comes to the church rehearsal every week.
He isn't exactly a Christian, neither are his parents. But he said he likes the Gospel songs. August doesn't talk much, perhaps he writes more music than he talks. But he always means what he says.
"You're like angel."
It made her look up to herself even in the worst of times. She was always proud that she taught him his first notes. Then he asked her to sing in his concert, she remembers, he came with his professor.
He's come to church tonight, but this time she isn't singing. He asks, why?
I wanted to listen, like you do, or maybe just to sit next to you, but she doesn't say it. His hand within reach, she wonders if it's alright to hold it. To look upon the contrast of their skins and feel, for once, that he doesn't live in another world far away. His hands were always warm, when they were kids, are they still?
Her mind takes her back once again, the first time she's seen him. All the while singing and not getting one word wrong, she couldn't take her eyes off the ghost that appeared between the pillars. And he smiled and his smile was so pure. Then of course, he couldn't have slept under someone else's bed.
At the time he always said, "I was just following the music"
She points out, "you don't say that anymore".
"Maybe that's because...
I don't have to follow it anymore. I'm right where it is."
She shrugs a little. He's talking about his parents, right?
"I wanted to hear you sing."
She's startled from her thoughts and looks at him, his ocean blue eyes are planted on her.
"There is so much music in you, you have to let the world hear it."
Louis did say, never quit on your music.
To August, those words were the Bible itself.
He would never let her stop singing, he thought as he gazed at her confused irises. At last he breaks the gaze and turns to the Gospel singers and their synthed movment. She lets out the breath she's been holding, and not so long after, she feels a hand squeeze her palm. His eyes are still on the chorius in the distance. She squeezes back. There's nothing to be said in a moment like this.
Let's just stay here, like this.. for a little while.