A woman is sitting on a chair, wearing a black dress. She’s barefoot, tapping her fingers, as the man standing in front of her plays the saxophone. “I wrote a song for you” he told her, and bought her a coffee. They sat at a table near the window, looking into each other’s eyes, not saying any words at all. Her curly hair moved everytime she moved her head even the slightest bit, and it was driving him crazy.

That afternoon they walked to his apartment, and they took the way through the park. It was a not-so-cold autumn day. He wanted to hold her hand, but she kept them in her pockets. He sighed and shrugged. She asked him if he was cold, took off her scarf and put it around his neck, without waiting for an answer. He thanked her. The scarf smelled really good.

She took off her shoes when they arrived to his place. It was warm inside. The air smelled like coffee and cigarettes. He took her coat, and she sat on a chair. He took his saxophone out of the case, closed his eyes, and started to play the song he’d written for her.

And just this morning they were strangers.