"C'mon, Julio. I also need to pee, man".

A strong knock on the door woke me up. I haven't been able to sleep well since I got to New York. Don't get me wrong, I love the excitement of being in a new place, with unknown people and their new habits - controversially, not always hygienic. It takes me by surprise, however, missing little things like walking on my favorite street, seeing the same old colors on people's house, even the sound of familiar voices.

"Andrew, the oven . . . it's burning". Another voice yelled after opening the bathroom's door... they all have different accents. Some sound like they have a problem with the letter 'r', making it disappear when it should be there, bringing it back on the most unexpected moments.

A female voice interrupted the frenzy of sounds coming from the living room.

"Fam gal. Yaw're going to be late on yaw fist day. Not that I care, but yaw haven't stop talking about piano this... piano that".

"I am not a farm girl". I answered, getting up quickly and looking at my watch to discover I was already 10 minutes late. I had everything planned out perfectly for my first day at NYU. That meant waking up 3 hours early and giving myself time to figure out the subway and... well, this apartment.

"Yaw will need caw-fee" She said, ironically, while observe me freaking out trying to rush into my clothes and run out of the door.

I couldn't afford an apartment in "the city"- which I quickly learned was how they referred to Manhattan -even sharing it with 3 strangers. This meant that I needed to deal with 40 minutes on the subway and a 10 minute walk to get to my classes every day. That's not even considering the times I exit at the wrong station, or get lost on twin streets, that looks exactly the same. This morning was no different. 'Olivia, why are making the same mistake again? Why did you draw that stupid map if you can't read it? Geez, such a waste of time... now I am lost again and already 20 minutes late for my first class.'

Simply by walking on the streets I felt as I didn't belong there, and everyone knew it. In my head, all eyes were on me, judging my hair, boots, the way my lips shake when I was nervous. Insecurity was a monster I battled every day, as soon as I open my eyes, and it was not a fair war. It wins easily, aggravating my self-doubt. Being late on my first day was just a confirmation from the universe. My professor's first impression was going to be determined on this day, and I will always be the "irresponsible girl", the girl that does not deserve a spot in the best piano school in the world.

Staring at my classroom door, I could hear her penetrating voice speaking to a class full of young adults that know how to properly set an alarm. Slowly, I held the door handle. It was cold, sending a freezing sensation up my spine. I stood there, holding the handle, breathing as if my heart and lungs were warming up to depart from my body. Her voice was followed by the complete silence of the audience, that paid attention as if it would guarantee her personal approval. I wanted to open the door, but the idea paralyzed me. My legs didn't answer my commands, and I didn't even know if I was sending one or if my brain was completely asleep.

'Open the door, Olivia. It is better to be late than never show up... right? Or I could make an excuse, saying I was feeling sick.... That's so lame. You can do better. You made it to New York, you deserve your spot. You can do this. Just apologize, sit down, and shut up. That's the plan'. I took one last deep breath, conjuring up all the courage I had to turn that handle.

"Pardon, Miss . . . . . "

'Fuck, what's her name?' My mind was in complete silence, abandoning me on the middle of this battle field, alone.

I couldn't face her. My eyes moved straight to the floor, a sensation of complete humiliation grew in my stomach, without anyone to blame but myself. All eyes were on me, burning my skin like lasers. The sound of whispers broke the silence, leaving behind a quiet commotion in the air. I could feel sympathy coming from unrevealed sounds, but also restrained smiles of individuals finding that scene really entertaining.

"Why don't we start with you telling us your name".

Her gravelly voice didn't send any sign of emotion, it was neither distressed nor supportive. Sitting on the edge of her table, with both her hands laying on her thighs, she seemed like an empty vase where I couldn't read any particular reaction. Her poise was that of a woman without insecurities, owning her reactions as a master of her mind, while I was almost in the middle of a meltdown. She stood there looking at me, waiting for my response as if I was a child being disciplined.

"Olivia Harding"- My voice sounded more brittle than expected. Laughs cut the uncomfortable atmosphere. During the entire encounter, I noticed I hadn't even placed two feet into the classroom. My left hand was still on the handle, keeping the door half open.

She breathed deeply, standing close to the edge of the stage. She faced me for some seconds, her face showing some indecision. Apparently, she rethought her next action, as she gave the class her back and crossed the stage, sitting at the piano's bench. I was uncertain if I should sit or just stand exactly where I was, not moving a single finger.

"Learning piano is easy" - Her voice was cut by the bass string on the piano. "However, being a pianist is a gift."

As soon as her piano started playing, I recognized 'La Campanella', by Franz Liszt. Her fingers were moving in a delicate dance, as if they were shooting strikes of lightning every time they touched the keys. The perfection of her posture was something I had never seen. Her gracious neck moved in concert with the rhythm. Her long arms danced on the piano, followed by hypnotized eyes. After some seconds, I wasn't sure if she was playing the piece, or if the piece was in control of her body. It was majestic.

The entire class was completely static. Her talent was irrefutable. If her mere presence created in us the necessity of her approval, now we would need her admiration. All eyes were obsessed with her, searching, almost chasing for her contact. We could feel the urge on the air, a vibration sent by our needs, violating her steady, pacific, aura. I wasn't different, one more apple in the orchard.

Upon finishing the piece, she slowly placed her hands on the side of the bench. We were affected by her performance, whereas she seemed returning from a dream.

"Miss Harding" -Professor Molina said, while still sitting and facing her piano.

The sound of my name on her lips was frightening, waking me from my own trance. Her eyes moved on my direction, allowing me to notice familiar amber eyes. Her delicate nose, heart-red lips, long black hair laying on her shoulder, letting her perfect curls rest on her back. All that picture brought me back to my first morning in New York and the unpleasant meeting with a stranger. I was in complete disbelief.

'How is that rude woman now here, in front of me as my professor?' I kept repeating in my head. Unable to hide my thoughts, my expression gave away all my concerns, leaving it clear for her to read. Her upper lip moved, slowly, up into an ironic smile, while she moved from her bench. Walking in my direction, her gaze was concentrated on me, not getting distracted by the tension on the air. With her brown tail-arched eyebrows, her steps led in my direction. My emotions were divided into anger and fear.

"Which one are you?" - She said, seriously facing me.

"Pardon me?" - I couldn't remember what she was referring to.

Her disappointment was now evident.

"Are you here to learn piano or to be a pianist?"

Her question intrigued me, however I learned that lesson while growing up surrounded by a variety of artists. Being a pianist was a honor, but I want to be much more.

"Neither, professor Molina. I am here to be a musician".

Her whole figure froze. My eyes witnessed an electric force rolling up her spine, evident through her sharp eyes and arm hairs standing on end. I wondered if she felt in peril, challenged by my answer. If that was the case, she composed herself quickly, standing up straight, still, with her shoulders perfectly aligned and her hands resting in front of her chest, holding her necklace in her fingers. At the same time, she scrunched her face and gradually rose her left eyebrow, as if she were studying me.

All the other students where quietly observing the scene, as spectators of an intriguing plot.

"Did you ever read Alice in the Wonderland?" - Her index and thumb slowly caressed her collar bone, while her left arm lay along her chest, supporting her right arm.

"No" I answered, with a dry throat.

"They have a quote that says : 'The best way to explain it is to do it'" - She pointed to the piano. "Why don't you show us what you mean by your definition of musician?"

My neck's muscles tensed immediately. My hands were sweating, ignoring my attempt to dry them as I wiped them on my jeans. My eyes were led to the piano, but my legs wouldn't move. A dizzy sensation grew in me, my body started getting heavy and my head light. Suddenly, I felt like there was an absence of blood in my brain, as if I were going to faint.

"I am sorry professor, I can't play the piano right now".

I answered in defeat. 'Was there a conflict between us? If not, it felt like one... or another one'. My thought was interrupted by the bell announcing the end of the period. Slowly, everyone started leaving the room, while I stood in the corner debating with myself if I should talk to her in privacy or just run to my room and hide from the world forever.

"Miss Harding. A word, please".

I walked in her direction, still feeling stressed. I noticed her putting a strand of hair behind her right ear. Her movement was gracious, almost making me forget how much I've hated our encounters so far. As I got close to her, she moved to face me while sitting on the piano bench.

"You have a memorable presence." The corner of her mouth moved up slightly, showing a shy dimple on her left cheek. "But it doesn't mean it is always pleasant". I nodded my head, actually agreeing that I could say the same about her.

My arms were crossed and eyes were squinting. I couldn't stop moving my right leg, gently making circles with my feet while listening to her. Facing the door, I was anxious for the moment where I could finally leave that torment and call that day done.

"You are so stubborn" - her quavering voice denoted how tired she was, making me feel even worse. A quick breath was follow by her organizing her briefcase while she continued speaking.

"If you plan on succeeding in this career I would suggest you to loose the attitude and get serious about learning. The thing I appreciate the most in my life is time, and you waste it more than I would tolerate. I usually don't give personal advice to my students, but if you think you have a chance in this program I would suggest you to go back home and find another dream".

The sound of her heels on the floor as she stepped out of the room was lethal. If my failure had a soundtrack, that would be it. As I sat on that bench, recovering from humiliation, I remembered my grandpa. The piano next to me was much superior than anything I had seen before, but I missed the old sound of his music in our living room. His laugh was contagious, bringing life all over the place. A happy man he was, always with meaningful advice, encouraging me to learn. 'Are you still proud of me?' I asked, while passing my fingers over the piano's keys, wishing I could touch his hand one more time.

I knew crying was not the answer, but it was inevitable. In that empty room, in my dream school, I allowed myself, for the first time, to have doubts about my choices. Even knowing that after, I would need to shake my head and try once more.

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How are you today? I have a question for you!

Did you ever had a crush on your professor? I would love to read everyone's experience ❤

Please, leave comments or concerns about what is good or could be better. I will love to read your feedback ❤