Chapter 0:Not So First Encounter
CHAPTER 0
I have always believed that people exaggerate the importance of beginnings.
The funny thing about falling for someone you've known your whole life is that there isn't really a beginning.
It was a Sunday. Just a random Sunday.
My mind wandered all through church, drifting from one ridiculous thought to another while I tried—and failed—to focus on the sermon. Instead, I found myself looking around, absentmindedly observing the people seated nearby.
Then I looked down at my own hands.
It reminded me of something I'd always found oddly attractive: pretty hands. Clean hands. Long fingers. Neatly trimmed nails.
A ridiculous thing to think about in church, I know.
Before I knew it, I was secretly judging everyone's hands, mentally rating them like it was some kind of competition. "What kind of person judges hands during a sermon?" I asked myself laughing quietly.
And then I saw them.
The perfect pair of hands.
God was probably disappointed in me, but those were really nice hands.
Curious, I looked up to see who they belonged to, expecting to find a stranger.
Instead, I found someone I'd known for years.
It was him.
An older brother figure I'd known since childhood.
He had always been there. The older boy who carried his brothers' bags after church. The one everyone greeted. The one who sat behind the piano every Sunday. Somehow, I had never stopped to wonder who he was beyond those things.
We grew up around each other, yet somehow apart. He was rarely home, while I was almost always at mine. We knew each other, but we were never particularly close. If anything, I was closer to his younger brothers than I ever was to him.
He was exactly where he'd always been—standing behind the keyboard, eyes fixed on the sheet music, fingers moving with effortless familiarity. He'd probably played that same way every Sunday.
So why was I only noticing him now?
I had watched him play countless times before, but that day felt different. Maybe it was the way the sunlight fell across his hands. Maybe it was the concentration on his face. Maybe I was just finally paying attention.
Nothing about him was different.
The only thing that had changed...
...was me.
At first, it wasn't even him that fascinated me.
It was the way he played the piano.
He played in a band, and whenever I had the chance to leave the house, I'd find myself watching him play. Sometimes I'd visit his house under the excuse of hanging out with his brothers, only to steal a glance—or maybe two or a lot—at him.
Somewhere along the way, that harmless little habit stopped being just a habit.
It became something more.
Something I couldn't seem to change.
I didn't know it then, but that random Sunday was the first time I noticed him.
Not the first time I saw him.
The first time I actually did see him.
