But then she remembered Shizuka’s reaction to the noodles, the slices of braised kidney, how she savored the aroma of the dumplings. Lan recalled Shizuka’s expression as she chewed on the noodles, sipped the broth, added a bit of chili paste, some grated ginger.

And all that time, Lan had been talking, explaining, correcting. But had she really tasted anything?

“So, the value of your music … is that it rewards the person paying attention?” Lan ventured.

“No … but paying attention is always a good start.”

Shizuka put her coffee down.

“So, Lan, will you please do so?”

And so, Lan listened, as best she could, not just to the sound of her voice, but to everything that Shizuka Satomi said. No, she couldn’t understand all of it. In fact, most of her words still did not make sense.

But she listened. And as Shizuka continued, Lan became more and more intrigued by what she did understand.

Shirley was right. This was not a simple planet.

After this, she’d go back to the shop. There would be fewer customers than yesterday. There would be another mediocre Yelp review.

But here, sipping this coffee and tasting these delicious sandwiches, just by listening to Shizuka talk about music, somehow Lan Tran felt neither alone nor hopeless at all.

“Again.”

Miss Satomi nodded to Astrid, who repeated the accompaniment. Ever since Katrina had gotten Aubergine back, her playing had become unsteady.

“Again.”

Dammit! The A-string had slipped a little. No, the string was fine—she’d simply missed the note. She knew where the note was, but it was not the note she wanted—what did she want?

“Again.”

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she sing?

It was breakfast. Astrid served cold cuts, crusty breads, semisoft cheeses, and a soft-boiled egg in an eggcup. She had never seen an eggcup.

“Katrina, why do you play?” Miss Satomi asked.

Of course, her plan was to make more videos, post them, and get paid. But that was not what Miss Satomi meant.

She took a thoughtful pause, then, like a schoolchild trying to say the right answer, recited, “Because, when I play, I feel like I can be normal. The music doesn’t care who I am. My violin is just happy to be played.”

It had felt so safe then. So pure.

So full of bullshit.

Why play? To be safe?

Aubergine was wonderful, Miss Satomi was amazing, Miss Astrid made the best tangerine juice. With the recording studio, her videos were more professional and prettier than she could have dreamed.

But why was she playing? Maybe she was being ungrateful, but she couldn’t help it. But where was it? What was it?

“Katrina? Why did you stop?” asked Astrid.

“You’re not done yet. Again,” said Miss Satomi.

“I can’t find it!” Katrina yelled. She walked, then ran out of the studio.

Shizuka and Astrid heard the front door slam.

Astrid glanced at Shizuka.