Marina Vasilievna got a piece of paper from her bag, scribbled a number on it and handed it to me.

– Call me, don't be shy. But if you have my fans among your friends, I'll shoot you, – she winked.

– Thank you, Marina Vasilievna. I respect your genius, – my face got red.

– It's mutual, dear Sasha.

– W-would you like to go to a concert with me? My friend will be performing a solo there.

– My dear, it's always easy to find me when it's about good performers. But for now – goodbye.

– Goodbye, Marina Vasilievna.

I kept the piece of paper in my hand as if it were the most precious thing I've ever had. When I got home, I hid it in a forgotten book. Just in case.

-

The day of Sasha's concert has come.

I woke up a few hours before the concert because I wanted to practice for some time. This day seemed generous to me, almost ready to share the youth's talents with me, the youth that's going to ignite that fire in me that got dimmed long ago, when Kesha was still with me.

While practicing with the mockery Iosif has given me, I didn't notice how time flew by and hurried to catch a taxi.

Grumpy dark skies don't have mercy and never tell where to go. But I notived the school building and ran right towards it.

That same rosin smell. It's surpsiring how I have it everywhere I go. By the corner of my eye, I noticed children in black and heard them tuning. Double notes seemed to have lost their charm for me, because now I heard them often.

I took my coat off, left it in the dressing room and entered the hall.

It's been a while since my last visit to such halls, so I started looking around.

The stage is bright under the majestic yellowish lights from above. Upon it, there lie two mighty double basses, chairs for performers everywhere on it. I shivered because I couldn't wait.

Teachers sat on their places like pigeons on warm ground in winter. I sat on a peasant seat but I didn't complain.

Finally early birds began walking out, to each their own instrument – some carried heavy cellos in fragile hands, some were similar to me or Sasha, one boy had a tuba in his arms.

I saw Sasha and felt chills coming down my spine. I was filled with pure happiness. I almost forgot to clap.

A lady came to the stage and told us about the concert. She soon left the view. In deathly silence began the celebration under the conductor's hand. I drowned in greatness of the instruments and their range and sound diversity. I couldn't believe children could copy the composer's intention so exactly. It seemed to me it would never end, but soon they announced the end of the first part.

Some parents and teachers began leaving. This gave me the chance to sit closer to the stage.

The third ring has rung, everyone came back. Fortunately, the person who had my seat has left, so nobody claimed it. The second part began. The announcer lady spoke fiery words and finished by naming the piece.

– …solo by Alexandra Tchernookova!

My heart jumped. My soul, my pride and sorrow, my angel. Little Sasha is performing her solo. I looked as careful as I could and forgot to breathe.

Everything in her had grace, no movement of hers could be named clumsy. She tuned with barely noticeable bow jumps, like a mother kissing her child goodnight. The grand piano began playing, Sasha put the bow into the strings.

God himself told my heart to sing. If it could sing, it would want to do it, but it wouldn't disturb the harmony, it wouldn't interrupt the perfection. I believed without any doubt that Sasha never makes mistakes, either at home, at school or on stage. Her hands seemed blessed by God's lips to me, the spotlight shining looked like a halo. My mind got blurred, but, oh my, what a pleasure it was to obey the blur and get away from all thoughts for the sake of just one of them, the final one, for this spark, this flash, blessing right before the ending, when it all ends, but you don't go anywhere, letting this thousand suns to swallow you whole instead.