Chapter 5

"Okay," she said quietly. "Just for a minute."She sat down on the bench and adjusted it to the right height. The bench was perfect, much better than the old wooden chair she used at church. She looked at the keys and took a deep breath.Mr. Wellington stood behind her, checking his phone again. He was probably expecting her to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb" or something simple like that—something that would amuse him for thirty seconds before he got bored and went back to his business calls.Sophia put her hands on the keys. They felt smooth and cool under her fingers. She pressed one key gently, then another. The sound was perfect: rich and clear and beautiful. This piano was tuned perfectly.She started to play something simple at first: just a few scales to get used to the feel of the keys. But the piano was so responsive, so perfect, that she couldn't help herself. She began to play one of her favorite pieces.The music filled the big room like water filling a glass. It was Chopin, the same composer she had been reading about in her book. The melody was soft and sad and beautiful. Her fingers moved across the keys like they had been born to be there.Mr. Wellington stopped looking at his phone. He looked up at Sophia with surprise; this wasn't what he had expected at all.The music got more complex. Sophia's left hand played a gentle rhythm while her right hand danced over the higher keys. She closed her eyes and let the music take her away. For a moment, she forgot where she was. She forgot that this wasn't her piano, wasn't her house. She was just playing music, and nothing else mattered.The sound was incredible. The piano responded to every touch, every emotion she put into the music. It was like the difference between riding a bicycle and driving a race car. Everything she had learned on the old church piano was still there, but now she could express it the way it was meant to be expressed.Mr. Wellington stood very still, listening. His phone buzzed with messages, but he ignored it. He had never heard piano music like this in his own house. He had been to concerts before—fancy events where famous musicians played for rich audiences—but this was different. This was happening right here, right now, in his living room.Sophia played for several minutes, moving from one piece to another. She played music she had memorized, music that lived in her heart. The piano sang under her fingers, filling the empty house with something it had never had before: soul.When she finally stopped playing, the silence seemed louder than the music had been.Sophia opened her eyes and remembered where she was. She quickly pulled her hands away from the keys, like she had been touching something hot."I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I got carried away."But Mr. Wellington wasn't angry. He was staring at her with a look she had never seen on his face before: surprise, confusion, and something else—respect, maybe."Where did you learn to play like that?" he asked.

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