The second time I saw her, we took a walk at the university. She grabbed my hand and led me into a building. Without even checking to see if it was empty, she burst inside a lecture hall, bounding up and down the aisles like a kid in a candy store. She spoke to me and the sound reverberated through the room, and she smiled at me crookedly and said something I couldn't quite remember, with her shaky voice bouncing feverishly up and down the walls.

“Isn't this great?” she smiled triumphantly at me while she stood in the front of the classroom and watched me take a seat in the back. I sighed, crossed my legs over the chair in front of me, and focused intensely on the piece of gum stuck on it. I tried to act annoyed, but she saw right through me.

“Why are we here? What if someone catches us?” I whined and shook my head.

“It's not like we're having sex in here. Relax,” she shrugged it off.

Without another word, she picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing notes onto the blackboard. We did this for awhile, in complete silence. I just watched her, and she was consumed in her own little world, nothing I could say could bring her back. She was writing poetry with little dusty, grey notes. Her delicate hands scribbled furiously on the board, and the black of the chalkboard began to fill up entirely with the familiar treble and bass clefs. When she was done, she simply dropped the chalk onto the desk, hopped onto the tabletop, and looked up at me expectantly, as if I could decipher the whole thing in one glance.

“You wrote me a symphony?” I said with a slight smirk.

“Yep. Something like that. Are you gonna write me a novel, J?” Her eyes met mine in a challenge. I shrugged. She hopped off the desk and motioned for me to come.

That night, I wondered what those notes sounded like.