Quietly, she dried herself, then put on a newish pair of cotton pants and a top that reasonably matched. She retrieved her makeup and hairbrush from her bag, and sat at the vanity.

She looked into the mirror and touched her face. Her black eye was gone.

And wait—it wasn’t just warmth of the bath. Her rib was fine?

This seemed like a dream. But her forehead was still too heavy, her jaw still too wide. And she had the same ugly, oversized hands.

Well, whether she was dreaming or not, reality was reality.

Katrina smoothed moisturizer on her face, then found her razor. She pulled her skin taut, and shaved her facial hair as closely as she could.

Once her makeup was done, she checked herself one last time in the full-length mirror.

Then Katrina took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked downstairs.

The walls were covered in dark wood paneling, and the floor was carpeted in beige. The lamps were large ceramic decorative things that used incandescent bulbs. Everything was dusted, polished. But everything seemed to be sleeping. The drapes, the curtains, the furniture.

Katrina gripped her smartphone to remind herself what year this was.

“Miss Katrina, all clean are we?” said Astrid. “Wonderful. Please, sit. Would you like some tea? Earl Grey?”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

“Miss Satomi will be down soon. I think you’ll enjoy this. It is a most wonderful Earl Grey.”

“T-thank you.”

Katrina smiled. Or she hoped she smiled. Did she smile? Speaking to an older person, let alone an older person who was serving her, made Katrina uneasy, so she looked away and up at the wall.

Her eyes were drawn to a black-and-white photograph of a woman—no—a girl.

“The Paganini Competition,” Astrid said proudly. “Miss Satomi’s first major win. The picture next to it is from Warsaw—where she broke strings on two instruments and, finally, finished the concerto with a viola.”

“Amazing…”

Immediately she felt foolish at the sound of her voice. Who was she to speak of Paganini? Warsaw? She didn’t even know what a Paganini was. Instinctively, she looked toward the door.

“Miss Katrina?”

“Y-yes?”

“When you think of love, is it somewhere the colors are brighter and everything seems to glow?” Astrid said casually. “With no pain, like your heart is skipping and doing cartwheels?”

Katrina looked down. “No, ma’am.” As if someone like her could have a life like that.

“Good.”

“M-Miss Astrid?”

“Good. Because love is so much more than that, isn’t it?”

Katrina nodded. That much at least she knew.

“And so was the way Shizuka Satomi played. Now, sip your tea, dear, before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Miss Astrid smiled.

And so did she.

As she sipped, Katrina looked at more pictures, and then records, news articles. Shizuka Satomi. She was more than a teacher. Far more.