Maggie hadn’t been feeling well, but she was determined to sing at the Halloween event. Even at her young age, she somehow knew—deep down—that she didn’t have much time left.
Every night, she whispered the same prayer:
This is my last request to God. Please… let me sing at the event.
Naosa noticed the change but said nothing. She simply stayed by her side and treasured each moment. Alex, too, began visiting the playroom more often. Little by little, he and Maggie became friends.
One day, as Maggie practiced with fierce determination, Naosa approached and said gently, “Don’t push yourself too hard. Let’s stop for today.”
Maggie shook her head firmly. “I want to keep going. When the other accompanist plays, the keys sound loud and heavy. But when you play, the sound is gentle, Dr. Nao—it makes me feel better.”
Alex, sitting nearby, leaned in. “Is that part of the witch’s magic too?”
Maggie nodded with a smile. “If I sing really well, I’m sure the man I love will find me and propose!”
Alex chuckled at her innocent confidence, but Naosa’s expression turned serious.
“Maggie, that might not be a good idea,” she said. “You’re just a little girl now. He might be sweet, but what if, when you grow up and get married, he’s bald with a beer belly? Would you still love him? And being with a popular guy… it’s not easy.”
Maggie opened her mouth to argue, then paused, considering the unexpected logic.
Naosa softened her tone. “I won’t lie to you. I just want you to be happy.”
Maggie tilted her head. “Then what about you? If the person you love went bald and got fat, would you still love him?”
Naosa gave a mischievous smirk. “Sometimes, when other women look at him, I think, I wish he’d just go bald and gain weight so no one else wants him! But if that really happened… I might just go find someone new.”
Maggie burst out laughing. “Then I’ll wait on his proposal until I’m absolutely sure!”
Later that afternoon, Alex returned to his office and announced, “I’m hitting the gym with you today, Miguel.”
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On Friday morning, Naosa dropped by Alex’s office as usual.
He was planning to stay over again that weekend, as they’d been doing, but she gave him an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry. I have a party tonight with some old friends. Come by tomorrow instead, okay?”
Alex tried not to show his disappointment. “What kind of friends? Are there any guys?”
Naosa nodded. “Most of them are in the music world. So yeah—plenty of guys.”
“I see…” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Tomorrow then.”
But the question lingered in his mind all day: Who were these friends she’d never mentioned? Why wasn’t I invited?
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That evening, the thought wouldn’t leave him. Finally, he turned to Miguel and Jill.
“Nao’s hosting a party at her place tonight,” he said. “Want to come with me?”
“Sure!” they both said without hesitation.
They arrived in Miguel’s car. The driveway was already packed with elegant vehicles. Well-dressed guests strolled toward the house, chatting easily.
Miguel raised a brow. “Looks like a classy crowd. Not formal, but definitely upscale.”
Jill nodded. “Pretty wide age range too—some in their twenties, others in their sixties.”
As they approached the entrance, Alex hesitated, guilt creeping in.
“…Actually, I wasn’t invited,” he admitted.
“What?” Miguel blinked.
“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sorry—I dragged you guys into this without permission.”
Before they could reply, a cheerful voice called out, “Everyone, this way!”
Kazu appeared, waving them through the poolside entrance. He hadn’t heard a word of the conversation and clearly assumed they were guests.
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The pool area had been transformed. Catering stations and a full bar lined the patio. The setting was relaxed but luxurious—clearly expensive, carefully planned.
As they made their way through the crowd, Miguel froze. “Wait… is that—?”
“That’s the percussionist who won the International Classical Music Award last year,” Jill whispered, wide-eyed.
“And that guitarist—he’s legendary,” Miguel said, stunned. “These aren’t just musicians. They’re world-class artists.”
Alex’s eyes scanned the crowd. Where is she?
Then, a voice called out, “Let’s begin!”
Everyone moved into a wide, open music room. Two grand pianos sat under warm lighting—one modern and sleek, the other antique, aged with grace and character.
Kazu sat confidently at the newer piano. And Naosa?
She stood barefoot beside the antique one, wearing a flowing white dress.
She raised a tiny silver bell and rang it once. “Here’s the rule!” she called.
And the entire room responded in unison: “There are no rules!”
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Suddenly, everyone grabbed their instruments. Without any introduction or sheet music, they began to play.
There were no programs, no setlists—just the spontaneous harmony of dozens of expert musicians playing purely for joy.
They flowed from classical to rock, jazz to folk, the transitions seamless. It wasn’t a performance; it was a living, breathing jam session.
Naosa moved like a sprite among them—at the piano with its rich, haunting tone, on violin and cello, and sometimes singing with a voice that seemed to float on air. Every movement was instinctive, luminous—she seemed to glow from within.
Alex stared in stunned silence.
This wasn’t the lab scientist from his office.
This wasn’t the shy girl who flustered over desserts.
This wasn’t even the muse from his dreams.
This was her truest form.
He felt small, uncertain. This was her real world, he thought. I was never meant to see it.
As he turned to quietly leave, the music paused.
Naosa stood, looked across the room—and walked straight toward him.
Without a word, she took his hand and led him to the piano.
She sat beside him, eyes locked on his, and began to sing.
It was a soft, timeless love song—a ballad filled with longing and devotion—and she sang it directly to him, as if the rest of the world had vanished.
When the final note faded, she rose, gently pulled him to his feet, and kissed him.
The room fell silent, then erupted in warm applause and playful whistles.
She turned to the crowd with a bright smile. “This is my love, Alex O’Neill.”
More cheers. More applause.
Alex, stunned but smiling, kissed her again.
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In the back of the room, a man with gray at his temples folded his arms and watched them quietly.
His eyes were calculating.
And he was not smiling.
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