The air outside was brisk and damp from the last rain. The humidity stung her face as she walked from the library back to her dorm room. The cold ground was saturated and mud squished beneath her thick waterproof boots. A stray drop of water collided with the back of her hand. Brilliant, she thought. It was beginning to rain again like it had been for the last week, off and on. The basements of most of the buildings were flooded and the little creeks had all overstepped their bounds.

She quickly ducked into the closest building for cover, hoping she did not have the misfortune of becoming trapped in a boys' dorm. Luckily, she realized she was in the music building. It was peaceful and she could hear the steady melody of a piano tinkling away. Curiosity getting the better of her, she pushed open the door to the room the sound was coming from.

She hesitated in the doorway and merely watched. A young man sat at the piano with his back to her. He didn't seem to notice her, but kept playing, steadily. She was surprised when she recognized the melody. Despite herself, she sang along softly.

Her voice caught his attention. He briefly paused and glanced behind him. She could see his dark skin, patterned with blue diamonds. She recognized him from Life Sciences, the Vinkun Prince who had been attacked by the antlers on his first day of class.

"I wish I knew how to play," she said. Her father had never been much for music, saying it distracted from devotion. When he had discovered his daughter's singing voice he encouraged her to sing hymns. He forbid her to sing anything else. They did nothing for her but left her feeling empty.

"It isn't so hard," he said, turning back to the instrument. "I learned when I was a kid. My mother wanted me to settle down. She worried I spent too much time outside running around, and that I would injure myself. I was pretty reckless."

From her spot in the doorway she watched his dark hands dance over the black and white keys. After a moment he paused and glanced back at her. Without a word to her, he returned to the piano. He scooted over slightly on the bench, a movement just large enough to be inviting. Part of her wanted to turn and run, right then and there. But she didn't. For reasons unknown to her, she slowly walked over to the bench and sat down beside him. Neither of them said a word, but he continued to play, the music coming boldly from the instrument, echoing through the small room.

Their was an odd power to it. She heard herself vocalize along, not sure why she did it. There was a spell over the room, a stillness. It was comfortable and peaceful and neither of them bothered to comment on it. The music produced was beautiful, and had a sadness to it, a melancholy. But she didn't want it to stop and suspected he didn't either.

But it had to, as all songs end eventually. They sat in awkward silence for a minute, the music replaced by their own soft breathing. Eventually, he said, "I didn't know you sang."

"I didn't know you played."

"Touche." He paused. "I'm not really very good. That's the only song I know well."

"You know it better than I do." The two of them sat still, growing less comfortable. What had happened between them? She shook her head. "I should go. I only came in to get out of the rain."

"I'll walk you back to your dorm," he offered.

"No!" He grimaced and she gently added, "It's really not necessary. But thank you." She left before he could say a word.

"Music, because of its specific and far-reaching metaphorical powers, can name the unnamable and communicate the unknowable." Leonard Bernstein