The stars were scintillating in contrast to the pastel grey moon with the winter charm and a frosty wind blowing along with a woeful yet reposing tune of a violin was perceived by my ears. Supposedly, the grey moon was also wondering about the source of this euphonious melody. I, resting on my easy chair beside the window with all the lights turned off in my room, couldn’t take my eyes off him– incessantly playing the violin at 1:03 am now. The white streetlights seemed to be the spotlights falling over him making him the centre of attraction in this huge stage of world’s reality. There were empty wooden benches, full not with spectators but dust and dead leaves. He seemed to be an unsuccessful artist with perfect skills but more of morals. He did not worry about the lack of admiration, rather wanted to express his repressed pain through the melody. 

Perhaps his old violin was his only refuge from grief on which he can lean his head and express the wretchedness and torment of his soul. His hairs falling over his forehead for the blowing wind, tears rolling down his cheeks and dried pink lips, and the intense pain and throes hidden between the strings of his violin made him and his melody both a mysterious illusion. I felt the darkness getting soaked in the rain of his heart-warming melody. I closed my eyes and slowly I could sense some kind of soporific warmth embracing me and a ray of ecstatic bliss poured on my mind. When I opened my eyes again, he was no longer there. I got up from my chair and walked towards the window to find him. My eyes couldn’t meet his but my heart had already etched his melody inside me. I went to bed with the hope of uniting with his music again. I wonder was it him or his divine melody I had fallen for?