It wasn't as much of a challenge anymore, after countless hours on their piano bench at home. It was no Steinway, but it was grand in its own fashion.

Peyton's fingers knew where to strike the keys, the pattern ingrained in their memory.

At this point, it wasn't about flawless execution or the proper technique. It was just about the passion.

Chord after chord, the left hand took care of the roots, and the right trilled the melody. The music flowed through them, feelings pouring into the ivory.

Their mind was beyond the keys, but between the sheets. Nostalgia and memories from long ago accompanied this part, and the emotions that came along with it.

It was a movement of the mind and the body. Their hands were a blur, their foot was on the pedal, and their soul was in the music.

The piano's hammers striking the keys echoed the hammering of their own heart and the piece rounded the corner of its final lap.

With a glissando and a few finishing chords, the movement was over.

Peyton felt giddy with satisfaction, just like every other time they completed a piece without a hitch, and had a good time doing so.

An uproar of applause sounded, almost surprising them. They practically forgot that they were performing in front of hundreds of people.

The intense lights and the unfamiliar piano did not phase them because they were too enveloped in the experience.

They turned to face the audience, and with a small smile, bowed. This earned another fresh wave of applause with a few stray whistles, and Payton felt on top of the world.

✱

No prompt for this one