Or maybe it's not, but if so, she can't tell at all. His fingers never stumble once, and while she doesn't know enough about the instrument or the song to know if he hits any wrong notes, there's nothing that jars her out of her semi-reverie as she watches him play.
And he wrote it for her.
It seems like a big deal. And maybe it's not to him, but it's more than enough to make an impression on her.
When he's done playing and opens his eyes again, she gives him a smile that has a hint of shyness in it. "What's it called?"
no subject
Or maybe it's not, but if so, she can't tell at all. His fingers never stumble once, and while she doesn't know enough about the instrument or the song to know if he hits any wrong notes, there's nothing that jars her out of her semi-reverie as she watches him play.
And he wrote it for her.
It seems like a big deal. And maybe it's not to him, but it's more than enough to make an impression on her.
When he's done playing and opens his eyes again, she gives him a smile that has a hint of shyness in it. "What's it called?"