Lunch with Pianist Wunderkind boy

There is a piano in in the courtyard behind the library and during lunch, he's always behind it, his fingers slithering back and forth over black and white keys. He always plays concertos of the contemporary nature; no Beethoven, no Bach, no Chopin. I've heard him say that he’s a fan of composers like Max Richter and Yann Tiersen.

I always try and watch him when he plays. Even if I have to run from the office in the rain to see him or sprint back in heels. It's all worth it to see him. I don't know him. But I wish I did. I want to ask him about which composers I should listen to, when he started playing piano, what type of coffee he drinks, what kind of girl he likes. But I haven't.

Unfortunately, I am too shy to sidle up to him like some other boys and girls in his intermissions to praise him. I just sit on the sandstone eating my rice box surrendering my hour to his recital.

Today he's late and I spend my time googling composers I might try on the commute home. I find Swedish pianist, Henrik Lindstrand. Propping my phone beside my box to take a sip of water, I don’t realise a shadow hovering over my shoulder.

“I recommend the track Hallonlandet. It's atmospheric and elegant", he pondered for a moment. "It's a bit like how I see you, my avid listener".

I was too surprised to sound eloquent. “Sorry, what?"

Straddling his long legs in black skinny jeans and Doc Martens over the sandstone bench, he pointed at the piano "I've noticed you watch me play every day".

He beckoned for me to follow him. “Come by the piano so I can talk to you better. You can ask me anything you want".

"What's your favourite type of coffee then?"

"Short, crisp and to the point like the girl in the front of me", he grinned.

"Oh, touché touché", I blushed and sat next to him preparing to be mesmerised.