melody of the soul

***

The concert began with a light guitar strumming, which gradually gained strength, plunging the hall into its own special rhythm. The spotlights cut through the semi-darkness, illuminating the stage, and Pasha, standing in the center with his guitar, took a deep breath before the first chord. His voice sounded confident, breaking into a slight hoarseness. Hell, it suited him so well… some couldn’t even resist those moments of his voice shifting from sweet to slightly husky and bassy. The crowd immediately picked up the mood — some started singing along, some just swayed to the beat, and closer to the stage the fans were already jumping around, soaking up every sound from the stage. The whole band let the fans be whoever they wanted to be. Even letting them practically fly with happiness. The first song was rousing, powerful, able to warm up even the most skeptical audience. It was followed by a quieter composition, melodic, penetrating directly into the soul. It turned out that the young man knew how to get the crowd going. And roughly understood how everything was going and after the first volley they had to rest a little. Oksana watched from backstage, not taking her eyes off Pasha. She saw how he completely dissolved in the music, forgetting about everything in the world, how he deftly picks the strings, how his voice mesmerizes the audience. At that moment he seemed different — free, real. And so happy… And as if huge, tender wings were about to grow from his back. It was so nice to watch him, his emotions and how he was putting on his own concert. She was very happy for her best friend, that he was finally getting out of his shackles and enjoying at least a fleeting glory on stage. As soon as everything came to a climax, the hall belonged to him completely. People were shouting, clapping to the beat, some of them holding their phones up, filming what was happening. The music filled the space, making hearts beat faster and the soul literally tremble. And the body itself was shaking from the inside out. Finally the last song came out of his mouth and gradually quieted down, but the hall did not hurry to stop — a storm of applause and shouts followed. Pasha smiled tiredly but happily, wiping sweat from his forehead, and leaned over the microphone: — Thank you so much! The crowd responded with an approving roar, and the concert continued. It lasted for several hours, allowing everyone to spread out to their heart’s content. There was more than enough food, drinks and toilet stalls. The crowd gradually dispersed, but some stayed, talking to each other and discussing the performance. Pasha stood behind the stage, catching his breath. Finally the guitar fell off his neck and gave the young man a chance to warm up. Sweat rolled down his temples, his T-shirt stuck to his back, and his fingers were still trembling from tension, though he held the guitar habitually and confidently. — Not bad, — came a voice nearby. Pasha turned his head and saw Oksana. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a slight smile on her lips. She seemed to want something from him. — You’re late, — he remarked, running his hand through her damp hair. — Of course I did. Do you think I could have left without telling you that you were good? Pasha grinned and sat down on the speaker. Now that the concert was over, the adrenaline had receded, and he felt a pleasant fatigue throughout his body. — What do you think? — He asked, looking at her from under her wet white strands. — You were great, — Oksana replied without a shadow of doubt, already showing her clenched fists. She was terribly happy for her friend. — The hall just roared with delight. She took a step closer, sat down next to him and handed him a bottle of water. Pasha nodded, accepting it, and greedily took a few sips, letting out a satisfied groan. — You know, — she continued, looking away, — every time you perform, it seems to me that you forget everything in the world. And I’m really glad that you’re taking such big steps towards your dreams. He grinned, blushing. Orlov clearly hadn’t expected Oksana to remind him again how he had been striving for his dreams and could finally realize them. — I guess he had. They fell silent. The music from the speakers was still playing, but now it was quieter, muffled, like a background. The people around them continued to slowly drift away, but this moment seemed cut off from the rest of the world. — You need to rest, — Oksana finally said, putting her palm on his shoulder. Pasha looked at her, feeling the warmth of her hand, even if he himself was hot after the concert. — Maybe, but just a little more. I love this moment after the concert. I want to savor it to the fullest. She nodded, understanding him without words. She looked at Pasha, smiling at him. His parents were obviously happy that the boy had started his own career. Naturally, there was a fear that everything would collapse overnight, but everyone believed in the best, seeing Orlov’s success. Oksana, sitting next to him, ran her fingers over the strings of his guitar. She was tired too, though she didn’t show it. Pasha watched her movement — careful, almost gentle. Her fingers ran along the strings, but without pressure, just touching, as if she could feel the music even in the silence. He grinned. — You never learned to play, did you? Oksana hummed, not taking her eyes off the guitar. — I don’t need to. I just like to listen. She raised her head, and their gazes met. Her dark eyes reflected the soft light of the street lamps, creating something almost unreal in this moment. Pasha suddenly realized how close they were sitting — almost touching shoulders. — It was a good concert, — she said quietly, as if she was afraid of destroying the fragile atmosphere. — Because you were here, — he answered, not fully realizing why he’d said it out loud. She froze. There was tension in the air, but not awkward tension, but a special, almost electric tension. Pasha felt her breath, saw her lips quiver slightly, saw her gaze slide down to his lips before rising back up to his eyes. He didn’t think. Just leaned closer, giving her time to pull away if she didn’t want him to. But Oksana didn’t pull away. Her fingers still rested on the strings, but now trembling. And then he kissed her. Lightly, cautiously, as if trying something new, fragile, precious. Her lips were soft, a little brackish with a slight tinge of fatigue, but nothing mattered at that moment. She responded, slowly, as if she too was trying to memorize this moment. Her hand slid to his wrist, her slender fingers squeezing his wrist. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was as if time had stopped for both of them. When they pulled away, Pasha saw in her eyes a mixed swirl of emotions — surprise, embarrassment… She hadn’t expected such a pleasant moment. — Well, — she exhaled, — this is unexpected. He smiled, still tasting the taste of her lips. They both looked at each other with a blush before looking away. It turned out to be their first kiss… The first beautiful kiss after a beautiful concert.