I was racing against the time, and just when I wished for a miracle to happen…
My little sister’s piano recital had already started, and I was stuck in traffic with a dead phone, no charger, and zero excuses.
She had practiced for weeks, every night playing that same piece until my brain knew it by heart too. But I never told her to stop. She loved it. And I loved her for caring so deeply about something.
The recital was her moment. All she’d wanted was for me to be in the crowd.
The bus had broken down, and I had to run five blocks after borrowing a stranger’s directions. As I finally reached the school, my chest ached, my legs were numb, heart was louder than my breath. I burst through the hallway, shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
Applause echoed from inside the auditorium. My heart dropped.
I was too late. Again.
But as I slowly opened the door, I saw her, still standing at the side curtain, her fingers nervously tapping the hem of her dress.
She hadn’t gone on yet.
The program had changed. A duet before her bought me just enough time.
When she looked up and saw me, her face lit up like the stage lights above her. She took a deep breath, walked to the piano, and started playing.
Not a single wrong note. Just pure focus, emotion, and a little smile that flickered every time she glanced at me in the crowd.
I clapped louder than anyone else, proud.
Later that night, she handed me a folded note with one sentence:
“I only played because I saw you.”