Part One
Bright, yellow sunlight filtered in through the wide windows of the cafe, illuminating the tiny specs of dust that floated serenely between the various patrons, unaware of their presences. There was the usual buzz of chatter, which seemed to fill even the corners of the room, though there might have been less than ten bodies sitting at the circular tables. They sipped from teacups and nibbled neatly arranged pastries, their talk underscored by a medley of piano notes. These were being prodded out of the lovely grand piano in the corner nearest the counter by a tall male with long, slender fingers. Surprisingly vivid blue eyes glanced down at the keys only occasionally, before absentmindedly wandering around his workplace once again. The dirty blonde hair that sat atop his head was slicked back, though it quivered every time he bobbed or tilted his head in tune with his playing.
No one really paid much attention to him; He and his music could have been part of the wallpaper, for all the praise it got. Regardless, he played well, one worn out loafer tapping out a beat on the concrete while the other pressed down on the right pedals of his instrument. No one really paid much attention to him, except for one girl, who had the same irises as he. Her long, pale blonde hair was brushed back and tied up in a ponytail, which swished lightly from side to side as she made her way through the tables, sometimes pausing to collect empty glasses and plates. While her father wore a suit jacket, she sported a simple blue day dress that fell to her ankles, complete with the mandatory white apron that hung around her waist.
More often than not, her gaze trailed over to the man and the piano, observing, her expression sometimes betraying a hint of longing. The task of carrying a tray of dirtied tableware to and from the kitchen wasn't nearly as satisfying as his job - a complaint she reminded him of constantly. Of course, these complaints only ever made it past her lips at their home, and she continued to perform her humdrum responsibilities as the bus girl without noise. But as he finished his piece with a flourish of his hands, she couldn't help herself. With her tray tucked between her arm and her side, she padded over to her father as he stood up from the bench, stretching. Her fingers, a more feminine version of his own, brushed against the keys when she arrived beside it, and they seemed to greet her, firm against her touch. Black, white, black, white, white…
"Adalyn."
The girl was pulled from her idle trance by the touch of her father's hand on her neck, and she looked up at him, her own hand retracting from the piano. At the age of sixteen, she already stood at a height of 5'5", and was still a head shorter than him. "Hm?" she replied, her eyebrows cocked innocently at his amused expression as if there was nothing wrong. "I may be on my break, but you should still be working," was his reply, and with a warm smile, he gave her an affectionate pat on the head that ruffled her hair before striding past her into the kitchen.
Ada turned and watched him go, the smallest of sighs escaping through her nostrils as she reached up and smoothed her strands back into place. The argument that the cafe wasn't as busy today died on her lips as she began once again to patrol the tables, the
clack clack of her shoes inaudible amongst the laughter of the customers.