On a quiet cobblestone street lined with historic brownstones and gas lanterns, lived a librarian named Vivien. 

She’d grown used to living a life unnoticed. She preferred looking after the library away from the hustle and bustle of the city. At home, she enjoyed her privacy and her books. 

What’s this? Her chest tightened upon seeing a light in the adjacent window. As long as she’d lived there, no one had occupied the other side of the building. Although each apartment had its own entrance, they shared one wall inside. In her mind, that light signified an unwelcome intruder. 

She preferred the quiet, or so she thought until she heard the first note. It came from a piano. One faint pianissimo followed by soft notes detached from one another on the high end of the treble staff. 

She sat on the velvet blue chaise longue and listened. The notes resembled raindrops pinging against a window, and she tugged the quilt at her feet up under her neck. 

Sadly, as soon as those raindrops had lulled her into a very pleasant, relaxing state, they abruptly ended. She held her breath, straining her ears for more. 

Low, hesitant notes soon followed on the bass end of the staff. Then nothing. Her amber eyes widened as she waited and listened. She’d quickly become curious and invested in the happenings of her new neighbor. 

She was about to stand, when a soft melody began, drifting to her ears—a larghissimo tempo, as if the pianist was tired and fingers weary. 

She felt a sadness emanating from the pianist and pressed her palm against the wall, offering support in the only way she could. Who was this pianist? Alone, perhaps? Or worse, maybe lonely? It made her think about how long it had been since she’d shared the company of another. 

By the time the coda played, she’d fallen into a dreamy sleep. 

The following night, Vivien had intended to read another chapter of Pride and Prejudice, but on her way to the reading chair, another tune drifted through the drywall. She settled on the chaise. Maybe she’d listen just for a bit. 

The melody started, then stopped, only to restart again. It was quite romantic if she had to classify it. Over and over this happened, with the music coming in short spurts. Her ears detected minor variations each time. What are you doing over there? 

A thought came about that the pianist was perhaps trying to write a song. That thought led to Is the pianist writing the music for someone special? Then, her petite hand cupped her mouth at an embarrassing revelation. I’m the intruder in this brownstone—intruding on the pianist’s private moments!

She dragged her feet to the bedroom, wanting to hide in her bed. Tears wet the pillow.

The following day, she busied herself around her place, tidying up her closet and rearranging the glassware in the cabinets, doing anything to avoid going near the inner wall. The uncomfortable night eventually gave way to the next day.

And that day proved especially difficult for Vivien. She couldn’t stop thinking about the pianist. Gone was her interest in shelving the precious books or restoring order to the children’s area. The piano music replaying in her head became a distraction. Always so careful in her duties, she rushed through them; her only thought was returning home. Maybe she’d been wrong in her troubling assumptions the other night. Yes, she convinced herself of it.  

Once home, she became anxious and made herself chamomile tea, watching the clock to ensure she was seated on the chaise at precisely the time the music found its way into her place three nights ago. Desperate wasn’t a word she’d attributed to herself before, but…

As soon as she heard the melody, her eyes closed. There were no breaks this time, just a melody smooth as butter, playing for her ears. The notes blended into the other with the use of the pedal, and by the end, her heart sang. She enthusiastically clapped with light touches of her hands that only she could hear. 

But after that night, the music returned to the sad notes of the first night. Why have you abandoned romance?

Her time with the pianist became a ritual. Evenings now revolved around the music. She ate dinner earlier, then showered and brushed her hair, preparing for the intimate concert. She nestled closer, hoping to feel the vibrations. 

Her interest in learning more about the pianist furthered. It was probably more than mere interest, but she had no experience in such things and did not recognize it for what it was. 

Thoughts of her new neighbor became a constant in her mind. The time she used to spend reading was now spent imagining the faceless pianist swaying with the music and long fingers stretching to reach all the notes. The music haunted her long after the last note sounded. Silence that used to bring her comfort now made her restless. 

Despite all of that, she took no steps to meet the pianist. Fear and shyness kept her distant.  

Weeks passed, and on a stormy evening, Vivien got caught without her umbrella. Her feet slipped on the wet stones, and she stumbled into someone’s shoulder.  

A man steadied her, gently touching her arm, “I’m so sorry. Let me pick up your things for you.” 

Before she realized what had happened, the man with dark hair dripping from the rain was bent over, gathering her books from the puddles. 

He handed her the book bag. “I’m Sebastian, by the way, and you are?” 

One look into his blue eyes, and she dashed inside without another word. But his gentle touch and his kind face left her warmed from the inside. 

Oh my goodness, she thought with her body pressed against the backside of the door. The pianist is a man. 

That night, she dreamed of him. They were alone together. It wasn’t what they were doing but more how she felt when he looked at her and touched her cheek. She woke with a restlessness, not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. 

The next morning, they left their homes at precisely the same moment. She turned to him and said, “I’m Vivien,” then scurried off to work. Had she idled, she’d have seen his welcoming smile.

That night, the music changed. She hoped maybe she influenced his choice. 

She immediately sat upright and set her glass of red wine on the side table. Gone was the slow melody with dragging notes. Upbeat ragtime played. Before she knew it, her bottom bounced on the soft cushion as her fingers pretended to play along on the piano. A warmth spread to parts she’d paid little attention to before. 

After he’d finished playing, she stepped onto her small balcony, seeking the cooling breeze. She started humming along to the music he’d played. Little did she know she’d attracted an audience. 

Her delightful voice had wafted through his open window. Curious, he stepped behind the cover of the curtain for a peek. He caught sight of Vivien’s lithe body awkwardly moving like someone not accustomed to dancing. He found it endearing. His eyes misted upon witnessing how his music had affected her. 

It has often been said that you cannot fall in love so quickly. Love at first sight was a myth. But those naysayers failed to understand the uniqueness of an artist's heart. The creative folk, such as musicians, writers, and painters, experienced intensely deep emotions, often triggered instantly when inspired. 

And so, while watching in secret, Sebastian fell in love with the fair librarian named Vivien. Only his sheets, however, would discover the depths of his desire that night.

The following evening, she walked home as the sun was setting. Her mind drifted to the intimate things that happened after dark—things she had yet to experience. A yearning heated her flesh and made her heart pitter-patter beneath her breasts. An idea formed inside her head. It was quite bold. And daring. Maybe even inappropriate.

Sebastian reached the brownstone as she did, and the words “Play something just for me?” spilled from her mouth. Unable to survive a possible rejection, she turned and slipped away.

She thought, or more hoped, she’d caught a glimpse of a smile before she disappeared behind the green door. Indeed, he had smiled, and it was because of what he saw in her eyes—palpable longing. 

Sebastian stayed home from work the next day to create the piece for her. The tempo had to be perfect. He concentrated on the little nuances he’d seen from her behavior and personality, and focused even harder on what he surmised she needed from him. 

Once the time arrived, she settled on the comfortable cushion and waited. The piece began with slow and steady rich notes played only by his left hand. Her hand moved to just underneath the slight swell of her breasts and rested there. His right hand followed with a light sprinkling of high notes. Just a few, before both his hands fell into a steady rhythm. 

Her breath deepened, and she untied the ribbon closing the top of her nightgown. Her fingers spread the edges, and her hand slipped inside and cupped a breast, guided by instinct. Her other hand slowly slid down her body, resting on her mound before exploring below. 

The rhythm of the music encouraged her movements. A fluttering of high notes had her fingers circling the sensitive nub. Yet, the melody remained restrained, at moments teetering on something faster, before settling into its comfortable rhythm once more. 

He’d given her a taste of passion, gently introducing her to her awakening body. A well-placed diminuendo closed the piece. 

It had been music with notes of longing. Was it hers, or his, or both?

Before she climbed into bed, she faced the mirror and noted the subtle changes in her appearance. Her face still wore the blush from her earlier arousal. She lowered the top of her nightgown to see how far down her skin had turned pink. Seeing her blushing breasts, she smiled and thought herself pretty. 

The next morning, Vivien was waiting for him outside his front door. “More, Sebastian… please.” She liked the sound of his name from her mouth. 

The rest of the day proved unbearable. Every thought was of Sebastian. He’d unleashed something inside her, something that had only just begun to bloom and needed to be fully opened. Once the day finally ended, she rushed home to prepare for what was coming. 

Right before she assumed her position, she turned off the lights and lit a single candle. It was her vision of romance. 

And then, the first note came. It was loud and sharp, almost as if it were asking, “Are you there?”

She rapped on the wall with her knuckles, hoping he heard. 

The music repeated the notes and rhythm from the night before while her hands retraced their touches. She quickly reached the edge once more, except that night, he’d push her over. 

Sebastian knew when to add the trills, and her fingers kept up, spoiling the intimate places between her legs. Her knees fell open, and she writhed against her hand, inserting a second finger. Inhibitions evaporated, and she freely moved with the increasing tempo of the music. 

Her cries rose with the notes, matching in intensity. Sebastian heard her through the paper-thin wall, and the song lost its restraint, notes bouncing into one another as the crescendo began, climbing until there was a clash of chords. She arched her back and screamed. Screamed from a fierce desire, and yes, love, finally realized. She grew dizzy as her insides tightened and spasmed through her orgasm. 

Only when the tremors had subsided did she notice the music had stopped, and there was a knock at the door. 

She didn’t bother tying her robe, but descended the stairs and peered through the eyehole. Upon seeing his handsome face, she opened the door, forgetting her state of undress. 

“Vivien, may I please come in?” His eyes drifted from her pinkened face and breasts to her lady parts on display through her sheer nightgown. 

For months, she’d let the piano touch her in ways she’d never experienced before, but now… it wasn’t enough. 

She welcomed him inside and fell into his open arms.