The boy sat on the black leather piano bench with his hands hovering over the keys.
The grand hall was silent except for the soft breathing of the crowd gathered behind them. Men in dark suits. Women in evening gowns. All watching.
The man in the navy suit stood directly behind the boy, one hand resting on the polished wood of the piano. His face was stern, but his eyes were searching.
“If you can play the piano,” he said, voice low and steady, “I’ll give you a home.”
The boy turned his head slightly, looking up at the man with wide, uncertain eyes.
“Do you mean that?”
The man held his gaze.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
The boy’s small hands lowered onto the keys.
At first the notes were simple, almost hesitant. But then the melody changed. It became something richer, older, filled with longing and memory. A song that belonged to another time.
The man’s expression shifted.
He leaned forward, his face now very close to the boy’s. His eyes widened slightly as he listened.
The boy kept playing, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes.
When the final note faded, the man’s voice was rough.
“Who taught you that song?”
The boy looked up at him, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.