I imagined the notes. Something heavy. Something with teeth.
People walked past me, bumping into me as they crossed to the other sidewalk. But I didn't move.
I was mesmerized.
The door opened as a couple exited the restaurant, and for a split second, the sound of the piano drifted out into the wet street. Deep chords crashed down in a slow, relentless pattern. One note kept repeating in the background, stubborn and insistent, like it refused to let the rest of the music breathe. It felt stormy. Dramatic. Like something building toward a breaking point.
I checked my watch. 10:45 PM. Her shift ended in fifteen minutes.
I had her routine memorized now. She'd finish the set. She'd close the piano lid softly, reverently. She'd take her cane from where it leaned against the bench. She'd navigate through the tables, declining offers of help from the staff. She'd exit through the side door to avoid the main crush.
She'd walk two blocks to the bus stop.
And I'd follow her.
I'd make sure no one touched her.
And I'd tell myself it was because Viktor ordered it.
Inside the fishbowl, the song ended. I saw her hands lift from the keys, suspended in the air for a moment of dramatic silence.
Then, she lowered them.
But she didn't reach for her cane immediately as I expected.
Instead, she stayed on the bench. She turned her head.
Not toward the audience. Not toward the bar.
She turned toward the window.
My breath hitched as I straightened.
She couldn't see me. She was blind. And even if she had 20/20 vision, she wouldn't be able to see me. It was dark out here, and I was standing in the shadows of an awning, hidden by the rain and distance. To a blind woman, the world where I stood didn't exist.
But she didn't waver. Her face was angled perfectly toward where I stood, across the street, thirty yards away.
Her chin lifted in challenge as she sat there, frozen, staring sightlessly into the dark.
My skin prickled. A wave of gooseflesh ran down my arms, chasing away the cold of the rain.
Sheknows.
It was impossible. Logic dictated it was coincidence. She was only stretching her neck. Or listening to the sound of the rain reflecting off the glass.
But I knew better. I knew the feeling of being seen.
And she was looking right at me. Through the glass, through the rain, through the carefully constructed façade I wore like armor. Through her own blindness.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
It wasn't the vapid, polite smile she gave Viktor. It wasn't the fearful grimace she gave Geoffrey.
It was sharp. Knowing.
It was a greeting.
My hands curled into fists in my pockets. My pulse thundered in my ears, louder than the traffic. I cocked my head.
