The Only Exception

The Only Exception Part 1

He saw her noticing the baby grand piano in the corner of the living room. He misunderstood her stare of fright for curiosity. He made the mistake of offering to play a song for her, any song for her.

[What would you like to listen to?] He asked politely, sitting down on the piano bench with her standing by his side.

[Flight of the Bumblebee.] She answered without hesitation.

Nodding, he started to play. His fingers raced each other and found their temporary places along the black and white keys. He closed his eyes and grinned. He did not see the cold look in her eyes; he did not see her wiping her tears off her cheeks.

When he finished, he smiled proudly. And she applauded, pretending to be happy.

[Why did you want to listen to Flight of the Bumblebee?] he asked, [I thought girls liked Yiruma or love songs.]

[Flight of Bumblee reminds me of my father.]

[And you miss that man?]

She looked beyond the window and walked away, as if running away from reality. [How can I miss him when I never loved him?]

[But he's your father.]

[So what?]

He asked her to looked at him. She did. She stared at him in the eyes unmovingly. He stared back at her, studying her blue eyes. How very painful, he thought, such unexplainable eyes.

Her stare was too mature, too mature for him- who was the same age- to understand.

[Love comes in many different forms and shapes,] he said, [As a daughter, I'm sure you loved you loved your father.]

[It seems like the humane thing to do doesn't it? But you see, I don't believe in love.] she whispered at last, [I never loved anyone and I never will.] 

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He told her he sold a painting he painted for $500. He said he couldn't believe that his along awaited dream of becoming an artist is finally coming true.

Another sugar, another cream, she mixed her sweet coffee while listened, smiling forcefully. They sat face to face in this coffee shop. He talked; she listened. He joked, she laughed. He spilled his heart out, and she pretended.

She hoped she could just fake through this level and the day would go on and their relationship would continue in its own bizarre way. But things never work out the way people want to, her thought was crashed when he said, [I want to do this for a living. I want to be an artist.]

Heart frozen, body petrified, she looked at him in the eyes with an unexplainable stare.

And he knew in an instant that he had upset her somehow. He was sure at that very moment that she was going to leave him.

[Is something wrong?] He asked. Her fixed and cold gaze pulled him straight to hell. Everything happened so suddenly he doesn't know what triggered this torture or when.

[Artist as an occupation, why?]

[Because I love it of course,] he laughed, [because you love it too. I saw the look in your eyes when you saw the painting in my apartment. I saw the  

sparkle of interest. If I have the talent to paint, why shouldn't I?]

Hesitations, agony, discourage, disbelief, he saw it all in her eyes.

[Did I misunderstand you?] He continued, [You don't like art?]

[No. Not that.] She looked down at her light brown coffee. She doesn't seem to remember why she preferred this sweet taste when she felt so bitter.

[Then what-]

[Don't let me influence what you want. Art is great, you love it, you do it.]

[But why are you so upset? I thought you would love this idea too.]

[Because I don't understand why you're doing this partially for me.]

[It's because I love you. I want you to be happy.] He admitted shamelessly. He knew girls liked romantic answers, so he expected a sweet answer, a warm hug or a sweet kiss.

But she didn't do any of those things couples should do.

She stayed silent for a long and stared into her coffee as if it was one of the seven wonders.

[What good will loving me do when I don't believe in love.] She whispered at last, [I never loved anyone and I never will.] 

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To Be Continued