Elias

You and Elias had been living together for a year now. The small apartment, permeated with the eternal smell of coffee, the scattered notes on the floor—it had long since become something familiar to you.

He was a pianist.
He wasn't just a man who could play—music literally lived within him. Every time you returned home from university, you were greeted by the sound of the piano. Sometimes calm and gentle, sometimes disturbing and loud, as if he were expressing his feelings through music.

And every time he invited you to his performances:

"Are you coming?" he asked, without looking up from the piano.
"Of course I'll come," you insisted every time.

He always looked for you. He always smiled only at you, as if it was all for you and only you.

But one day he didn't tell you anything.

— So, are you going to his performance on Saturday too? There will be a ton of famous people there.

You froze.
It turned out that a few days later, Elias had the most important concert of his career. A closed event, with press, famous musicians, and producers.

But he didn't tell you anything.
And it was precisely because of this that you felt terribly offended.

There was an unpleasant lingering feeling inside all evening. When you returned home, the apartment was filled with a quiet melody. He was sitting at the piano, slightly tired, his hair disheveled.

"Why didn't you tell me about the concert?" you asked firmly, but your voice still wavered.

The music stopped abruptly.

He was silent for a few seconds, but then he spoke quietly:

• I don't want you to come.

You are confused.

• Why?..

He sighed heavily, looked away, and relaxed his fingers on the keys.

• Because if you're there... I won't be able to concentrate on anything else but you.

After that, the room became so quiet that the only sound was your ragged breathing. And he added quietly again, looking somewhere at the floor:

• You influence me too much.