“How was your day?” he asked, handing me a piece of shattered glass on the floor. I raised an eyebrow on his unusually generous gesture, but deliberately accepted the chunk anyway.
“Um, fine.” Careful, I thought to myself whilst gazing at the sharp edges. My eyes averted the glass shards and turned to him. “How about you? Did you get to reach your best friends for a weekend getaway?”
His head shook weakly, although his lips formed a slight crooked smile before he looked down on to clean up the mess.
“They’ve been busy.”
“Ah, that’s really unfortunate.”
He dragged another three to his sides and started gluing them together. At the same moment, I squeezed out the sticky substance around the edges and connected it to another piece.
“This is like solving a puzzle.” he muttered to himself and stared at my unmoving hand which held yet another glass glimmering under the dim light. I couldn’t tell what expression he had when he saw me—was it joy? Or mesmerised? Absolutely nothing at all? He was like a dead language—hard to read, but beautiful. The light began to move and framed his eyes.
“Hand those to me. I don’t want you to injure your fingers. You would get insane if you cannot touch the piano.”
It was worry.
(Inside, I was completely happy to hear that.)
It only took him several minutes to finish the work while I fidget with his sleeve in mischief. He grabbed my arm, cupped my hand, and put a slightly cold, hard but sleek-surfaced thing on my palm.
“Be careful next time”
It was then when realised.
In my hand, lain a fixed glass with a pointy end, glowing like it keeps a flock of fireflies within the now invisible cracked edge—my own heart.