He had been checking the clock long before the last class ended. Today, if everything went right, he would reach the studio just as her lesson finished.
The teacher finally stopped talking. Chairs scraped back. He shoved his notebook into his bag, pulled the folded letter from the inside pocket, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Piano today?” his friend called from behind him.
“Yeah.”
“You’re never in this much of a hurry.”
He didn’t answer. He left the classroom and took the stairs two at a time. Outside, he pressed a hand against his jacket pocket. The folded letter was still there.
He started running as soon as he left school grounds. At the second corner, he ran into someone. Their shoulders hit hard. He lost his footing and caught himself with one hand on the pavement.
“Whoa.”
The other man stumbled too. Papers scattered across the sidewalk. He looked forty, maybe fifty.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
He stood and brushed dirt from his palm.
“You in a hurry?”
“A little.”
“Be careful.”
“Sorry.”
He adjusted his bag and checked the time, then started running again.
When he opened the studio door, the piano was silent.
The teacher was gathering up some sheet music. No one else was there.
“Hi. You’re early.”
He tried to catch his breath.
“The girl who was just here—”
“Her?”
“Yeah.”
“She already left. She looked like she was in a hurry.”
He glanced back at the door.
“How long ago?”
“Just a minute or two. She’s probably still nearby.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ve still got a few minutes before your lesson.”
“I know.”
He was already stepping back outside. He ran the way he had come. He knew which direction she went from the walk after the recital. He reached the street lined with shops and scanned the people ahead of him.
Nothing. He checked the time. She was already late for whatever came next. If she had been hurrying, she might be gone.
He kept running anyway. Near the far end of the block, he spotted a familiar bag. It was her. She was walking fast.
He ran harder. He tried to call her name. Nothing came out. The distance closed.
She reached the next corner.
“Wait.”
She didn’t hear him. He called again. This time he said her name. She turned.
Her eyes widened when she saw him.
“What happened?”
He caught up to her and stopped, breathing hard.
“Sorry.”
“Did you run here?”
“Yeah.”
“Is something wrong?”
He took a breath and reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers hit the bottom. Nothing.
He checked the other pocket.
“What is it?”
“Hang on.”
He set down his bag and unzipped it. He checked between his notebooks, then the inside pocket.
Nothing.
“What are you looking for?”
Still staring into the bag, he said,
“A letter.”
“A letter?”
He stopped moving and looked up. She was watching him.
“For who?”
“No, it’s—”
He closed the bag.
“Never mind.”
“But you came all this way—”
He grabbed the bag and started running back. Her voice followed him.
“Sorry!”
He kept going.