The song is far from pleasant to the ear.
The notes gives me the impression that they are randomly spilled on the music sheet, with no structure or purpose whatsoever.
I force a smile. "Say, you wrote it yourself?"
His eyes fall to his feet. "Well, yes..."
"It's beautiful", I lie.
He knits his eyebrows as his gaze meets mine. "Thank you."
We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. I am not sure if he has detected my lie. Maybe he has, but I decide I don't care. "I'll see you around, I guess..."
The song is terrible.
I'm not even sure if I can call it "song". It is closer to what I'd call "abomination". It lacks everything a song has: rhythm, melody, beat, lyrics.
"I hope you're not planning to be a composer", I say to him. "You will starve to death."
He freezes in his place, like he did not expect that kind of commentary. How is this my fault? His "song" sucks. Maybe if he was cuter, or more popular, or richer, I'd make an attempt to lie, but now, he's simply not worth my time.
"What are you looking at, loser? Get lost."
He mumbles something along the lines of "that was not necessary" and leaves, faster than a speeding ticket, with his head hung low. "Slow down, you're gonna trip and hurt yourself badly and the world will miss a great composer", I yell sarcastically to him. I eye the girl who was talking to him earlier coming towards me.
"There's no need for that", she says.
"Come on, his reaction is very amusing!"
Colors explode before my eyes.
It is not just a series of sounds. I can see a red circle, pulsing for a few seconds and then disappearing completely, to give its place to a green square that rotates lazily around itself. Bright blue dots appear here and there, adding up to the overall visual panorama.
I tuck my red hair behind my ear and look at him. "You see it too, don't you?"
"Wh-what?"
"You are a synaesthete. I know you are. Only a synaesthete could have composed this."
He still looks confused. "Synaesthete?"
I recite the line from that article I had read two years ago that explained what synaesthesia is. " Your senses cross paths. Ηeard sounds automatically and involuntarily evoke an experience of color."
His eyes widen as I speak. "I can totally relate, but... isn't this normal?"
"It's special," I reply with pride. "And your song is beautiful. I see very nice things."
"Thank you." There is a small pause, like he's trying to pick the right words to say. "What... What do you see? Do we see the same things?"
"Maybe. The way I see it, C is dark blue."
"What? No, this is wrong! C is and will always be green!" He laughs, and my, what a cute laugh he has. I laugh, too, but he just stares at me. "Wanna talk about it over lunch? I'm buying."
"Okay. I have only one condition. Next time is on me." Because, I'm confident, there will be a next time.
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