The sound of rain thundering outside the library in the dark gave it a strange, new kind of air. It was a soft purr accompanied with the rumble of the sky.

The silence of the library mixed readily with the smell of caffeine, old books and wood. Its emptiness was oddly fulfilling. Its huge windows were adorned with gold designs, covered by the purple curtains and carpets; the books placed neatly on the wooden shelves, stacked high enough to reach the bright chandelier hanging above. It had been a few decades since it was ever occupied, but it never felt lonely.

A grand piano sat in the middle of the room. However, you could only see its legs. A dusty white sheet was draped over it, giving it the look of an old legend that was waiting to be reborn.

An old, worn lady standing in the center of the cold floors, barefoot, a maroon velvet dress sweeping at her feet. Her dark eyes had a tired look to them, the kind that had seen a lot in her life. The kind who was ready to leave it all behind.

Her fingers embraced a small box, the cold metal pulsing a kind of comfort against her skin. Graceful hands reached out with a soft touch.

A creak echoed across the empty walls, and the soft notes of a music box began to play.

Ting... ting...

She closed her eyes, letting the familiar music quietly fill the air and her body. A thin smile formed on her face as she took hold of her greyed hair tied up behind her, and released it to let it fall around her in waves.

It started slow and gentle; the melody washing like the ripples on a calm lake. The woman could feel every note vibrating deep inside her. Her instinct knew every next one.

Gathering the courage to see this again, to feel this again; it had taken her twenty years. It held a different kind of pain from before, a sweet beckoning. The pain of return, a silent accomplishment.

Unconsciously, her gaze lifted to the piano, as if expecting it to play on its own like it used to. It had been more than a few decades since she heard it ring with his soul.

Few people had come and gone, given it a different kind of life, but to her they were all foreign. His weak presence in the library had faded, but somewhere she only hoped his soul stayed with the piano like it did when he made the promise.

The soft start of Liszt's Liebestraum involuntarily escaped her breaths. Her voice was off key, not being used the way it was before. But she went on nevertheless. She felt her vocals slowly line itself to the piece.

The melody was haunting; an unspoken harmony. It rang with promise. It took over her being like darkness.

Her voice was trembling, losing breath and control. But once she started, she couldn't stop. Her entire youth was subject to this piece. From the beginning till the end. Her voice was so empty, singing alone. The music box couldn't keep up. Why wasn't he here? Why didn't his piano follow her like it used to? She couldn't do this piece alone. She was heeding her promise, why wasn't he?

She knew for a fact that his presence had faded, but she couldn't help but hope his ghost was still here; that the piano would start playing again.

But she kept singing. She kept singing in agony as the piano didn't join her, calling weakly to him. She was losing herself to the melody, all alone. Play with me. I'm here. Return my promise.

The white sheet draped over the piano slid off, throwing dust into the air. She heard it, but kept singing; her eyes squeezed shut.

Light rings of the piano echoed along with her voice. She could feel the feather light touch of the fingers as they slowly took over the melody. There was a small interlude, and in that breath, she could hear the piano coming alive, like a withered tree growing from its roots. The notes began to rewind in that brief silence, and the piece started over.

A small smile formed on her face, and she began to sing again. Her voice confidently filling the notes of the piano. She could feel his pulse, his soul, echoing in his melody, and her voice reciprocated.

In every note he played, with every touch of fingers, with every connection the melodies of their voices made—she felt him. They felt each other everywhere; in the rain pounding against the window, in the wooden walls, in the faint smiles they felt across the room. They barely knew each other, yet their heart was out for each other to see in their music. This piece was a promise they made; right here, just like this—decades ago.

The pace of the piece picked up, and the piano started to ring faster. She was starting to feel lightheaded. The entire world around her crumbled to dust, and she couldn't see anything anymore. It was just her and him.

Her legs were numbing; becoming stronger with the music. Her body was starting to feel fluid. There was a spring in her step. Her heart pounded faster, as if restoring her youth. She was going back.

Her voice wasn't shaking anymore. She was singing just like just like the old times. The air was shifting.

Liszt's message when he composed Liebestraum rang in her mind.

Loving, and loving again, even when the object of your love has drifted away from you.

That was the strength of the piece for both of them. They recreated it with the similar fear; the danger of losing the strength they found with each other. None of them had the courage to do the piece alone. It was a dream of love, of doubt, of loss. Liebestraum; a love dream.

A loud note rang on the left end of the piano, gaining even more speed; taking dominance of the piece. And she gladly let him, listening to the way their shared memory intertwined together in his fingers.

Everything had gone back in time.

Her dark wavy hair moved in harmony with her. Her voice was coming back to her; clear and melodious. Her body was light, her eyes sparkled like she had a whole life ahead of her, embedded in this one moment.

The library wasn't cold anymore. The way their presence pulsed in the moment they made the promise; she could feel it again.

This is what you are here for, so do it till your last breath.

With that, her voice gained power, she let it out with absolute confidence; with everything her being could offer. The melody near the end slowed, following her lead. She let her voice hit the peak with all the strength she could, the ridiculously high note hanging in the air with power. It surged in her throat like the waves of a stormy sea, the sound of rolling thunder.

And like the result of a blizzard, the last note hit the keys, and the melody gradually faded into a void.

The young woman opened her eyes to face the man in front of her. She didn't feel out of breath, she didn't feel tired. She felt released.

The man in front of her smiled, his dark hair matching the color of his piano. The ghost of a stranger who made her the promise that day; whom she knew nothing about but recognized his soul with a familiarity as close to her own.

There was no world around them. They were stuck in the moment they captured, just with each other. They had both heeded their promise; the promise they made in the empty library on that rainy day. Where his ghost first poured himself into the piano's black and white, a calling for her. They were finally free of their last breath; their last promise. They had recreated the beautiful piece again with everything they had; together.

A musician's first death is when their last note hits the last heartbeat.

And they were both released of their final heartbeat, their souls left to music.

***