Elijah placed his hands on the keys, the cool ivory smooth beneath his fingertips. He pressed one key gently, surprised by the rich tone that resonated through the room. Then another, and another, until he was playing a simple melody, one that had lived in his head for years.
Behind him, Delacroix remained silent, but Elijah was too absorbed to notice. His initial hesitation melted away as his fingers found their rhythm, moving with increasing confidence across the keys. The melody evolved, growing more complex, blending elements of blues and classical in a way that seemed to flow naturally from his touch.
He wasn't sure how long he played; time seemed to suspend itself when he was immersed in the music. When he finally stopped, the last notes hanging in the air like a question, he became aware of a small sound behind him. He turned to find Mr. Delacroix hastily wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.
"I'm sorry," Elijah said quickly, standing up from the bench. "I didn't mean to—"
"No, no," Delacroix interrupted, waving away the apology. "That was... extraordinary." He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and fixed Elijah with a penetrating look. "Where did you learn to play like that?"
Elijah shrugged uncomfortably. "My mom taught me some basics when I was little. I just mess around sometimes."
"That wasn't messing around," Delacroix said firmly. "That was music. Real music." He moved to a cluttered desk in the corner and picked up his phone. "I hope you don't mind, but I recorded a bit of it. I wanted to make sure I wasn't imagining things."
Elijah's eyes widened in alarm. "You recorded me?"
"Just for my own reference," Delacroix assured him. "I won't share it without your permission." He hesitated, then asked directly, "Why did you tell me you don't play?"
Elijah looked down at his hands. "Because I don't. Not really." He gestured vaguely at the piano. "This is different. It's a real instrument."
"And what do you have at home?"
"An old keyboard. Half the keys don't work anymore."
Delacroix nodded thoughtfully. "Yet you play like someone who practices hours every day." He studied Elijah for a moment. "Would you be interested in using the school piano after hours? I usually stay late on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You could come by, practice a bit."
Elijah's heart raced at the offer. "I... I don't know."
"Think about it," Delacroix said, not pushing. "The offer stands." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. Do you need a ride home?"
"No, thank you. I'm used to walking."