“I can set up my laptop for you, if you wanna watch something.”
“Nah. I’ll keep practicing.”
“Alright.” Ody sat back, watching Mano’s fingers find their place on the strings. The melody that flowed out was gentle, steady and beautiful.
“Mano?”
“Yeah.”
“When did you start playing the guitar?”
Mano paused, notebook open. “When I was eight.”
“And you were in England then?”
He nodded.
“When did you move there?”
Mano set the pen down. “When I was two.”
“And how long did you stay?”
The question darkened his expression. He lowered his gaze, before answering. “Until I was ten.”
“And then you came back to Greece?”
“Yeah.” Mano lifted the guitar again and played, cutting him off before he could continue.
Ody watched silently. He didn’t know the whole story, but he could feel there was pain there. Fear. Something scarred and deep.
Mano finished the piece.
“I always wanted to learn guitar,” Ody said. “I never did. I’d just watch other people play.”
“Here.” Mano gestured.
Ody walked over smiling. Mano lifted the guitar from his lap and set it on Ody’s, their eyes locking for a heartbeat.
“This hand here… and this one here,” Mano said, guiding him.
Ody tried strumming, but the sound came out sharp and wrong.
Mano let out a small laugh and muted the strings with his hand. “Gently. Like you’re stroking it,” he said, demonstrating how.
Ody watched closely.
“Your left hand presses the notes on the fretboard,” Mano went on, moving to sit on Ody’s left. “If you press here…” He placed Ody’s fingers. “…and play here…” He strummed the strings, producing a rich sound. “You’ll hear this. Try.”
Ody tried again, but it was clumsy. “It didn’t sound good,” he said, embarrassed, glancing at Mano’s face so close to his.
“You need to place your fingers here,” Mano said, gently adjusting Ody’s hand.
The space between them disappeared.
“Like this…” he whispered, honey eyes lifting to meet green ones.
He shifted closer to guide Ody’s hand properly, his shoulder brushing his without meaning to.
