Symphony

He waited for almost an hour, sitting on the large steps outside the theater before the girl joined him. The violin was now hidden in a case of a soft shade of purple, which she clutched protectively between her arms as she moved hesitantly, one uncertain step at a time. Clearly, the long dress she wore, also purple, was making it difficult for her, and the high heels didn't help either. It took her quite some time to reach him even after she had noticed him.

She slowly placed the violin case on the ground and bent down to sit next to the young man, purposely avoiding the hand he had offered to help her. When she was finally seated, she casually pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets in the case that the young man hadn't noticed, and lit one with a violet lighter.

"Do you want one?" she asked, seeing the young man's gaze linger on the last cigarette in the pack.

"No, I quit" he replied, looking away.

"Yeah, good move," she said, taking a drag.

"You could quit too. It's not as hard as they make it seem."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to," she retorted.

The young man shrugged, and the conversation lapsed into an awkward silence, amidst faint distant notes coming from inside the building.

"Aren't you going to ask why?" she finally broke the silence.

"What?" he asked.

"Why I don't want to quit," she clarified.

Carmine looked at her with renewed interest, focusing on her gray eyes that were now staring at her shoes. "Mh... So, do you have a story then?"

"Yes," she replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "My ex-boyfriend. An idiot, but cute. He used to work here at the theater, but our schedules were different. The only way I could see him was in the smoking room. I started buying these to spend like five minutes with him each day. The time it took him to work up the courage to ask me out for a drink. And now they are a part of me."

She took another drag. "Then what happened?"

"For a year, we were inseparable. He wrote songs for me and said I was his muse. Then he left for a tour, and he must have met some groupie more attractive than me, the classic scenario. When he came back, he dumped me. Told me I was too boring, my music was sleep-inducing."

Carmine checked his watch, frowning at the lateness of the hour.

"So why do you still smoke? I'd say quitting is a good way to move on, even from him."

She burst into laughter and began to get up, realizing it was time to go.

"Oh no. Do you know how many times I've been dumped?" She looked Carmine in the eyes, waiting for a response.

He shrugged.

"Zero. Damn, there's no way that idiot will make me look like a crappy girlfriend. One day, when these cigarettes have done their job, even if it takes fifty years, I'll go to him, and I'll be able to tell that I may have put him to sleep with my soporific music, but he gave me a freaking cancer. What do you say?" She extended her hand to help the young man get up.

"Who will be the crappy boyfriend then?"

"They ever tell you you're a bit too competitive?" he asked, accepting her hand.

She laughed and pulled him up. "Yes. They've already told me."