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She was tired.
Isabella sat before her laptop, hands hovering over the keyboard. The cursor seemed to blink mockingly on the blank story she was writing. The words wouldn't come—they never did when her mind was exhausted and sleep-deprived.
With a sigh, Isabella admitted defeat. She closed her laptop, snapping it shut with a soft click: Her latest story would have to wait. Simmering with frustration, Isabella dragged herself to the window, brushed aside the curtains, and gazed out into the city.
In the distance, city lights glowed fuzzily under the night sky. Isabella's eyes traced the vague outlines of nearby apartments and the shadow of trees swaying gently in the breeze. The distant hum of the urban landscape was barely audible in her room.
Turning away from the window, she made her way to her bed. The crisp sheets felt chilly and unwelcoming as she slipped under them, curling herself on the mattress. Isabella lay there, her eyes staring dazedly at the ceiling. The room was completely silent except for the muted ticking of the small clock on her bedside table.
Isabella’s mind began to wander. She thought about her new home, the luggage still unpacked, and her day tomorrow. Isabella’s focus turned toward the wall her bed was pressed against. She could feel the cool, hard surface just inches from where she lay. Isabella hadn’t even met her neighbor yet, but she knew, separated only by that thin wall, that someone was there—a pianist, she was told.
Isabella tossed and turned in bed. The embrace of sleep seemed to linger beyond her reach, tantalizing. Isabella listened to the faint ticking of her clock, a constant reminder of the passing time. Isabella shut her eyes tightly, hoping for sleep to come, but it was futile. As always, Insomnia held her in a vice-like grip.
But tonight was different.
A soft, tinkling note rippled through the air. The note was followed by another, then another, a quiet stream of music flowing into her room. Isabella’s eyes fluttered open. It was the pianist next door, she realized, playing his heart out in the dead of the night.
His music was heavily muffled by the wall, forcing Isabella to lie still to make out the notes. The notes were clear and deliberate, forming a beautiful melody that swirled around the room.
As the music soothed her ears, Isabella felt something she hadn’t known in a long time. Her muscles, once tense, relaxed; her thoughts, once chaotic, calmed; and for the first time in what felt like forever… she felt truly at peace.
Isabella rested a hand on the cool wall that separated her from the music. Her thoughts drifted towards her mysterious neighbor. What did he look like? Was he old and seasoned or, perhaps, young and passionate? Was he ever as tired and uncertain in his music as she often was in her writing?
Closing her eyes, Isabella allowed the music to guide her imagination. Her mind envisioned a young man, fingers dancing gracefully over the piano keys. His expression was calm and serene, smiling subtly as he engrossed himself in a world of black and white.
Isabella soon felt a dreamy smile of her own forming on her face. As the music neared its end, she felt her thoughts slowing down, and she drifted to sleep—the heavy cloak of insomnia no longer as suffocating.
Tomorrow, Isabella decided, I should greet this pianist tomorrow.
And with that thought, she succumbed to the gentle embrace of Morpheus.149Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0r0QoQNT5c
