Ode to Joy

She couldn't see his face.  His long black hair had freed itself and hid that intense look from the audience.  To them the music was sweet honey, but she knew his eyes would show the pain of practice, of agonizing over notes and tones and relationships swept away on melody.  This was her third time seeing him play this year.  She sat in the center, her golden hair pulled tightly away from her face.  She never smiled or sighed or clapped.  She was unreadable. 

                When the curtain came down the audience stood, clapping and excited.  She made her apologies as she slipped like a wisp out of the aisle.  He had come through the velvet to bow again, and watched her as disappeared again into the night.