The day it happened had been full of stress for Roderich Edelstein. All day there had been a ridiculously long world conference, which had taken many more hours than usual to end in the predictable pandemonium.
Well, at least he had finally arrived home. He sat down in front of his piano and sighed in relief as the familiar Chopin music sheet waited for him, almost beckoning. He cleared his throat - though just as a habit, he wasn't going to sing - and started playing. The relaxing sensation of his fingers pressing every key with precision, and producing flawless tunes, was one of the mundane pleasures he lived for. The beauty of this particular piece, in his opinion, was incomparable to any other composer including himself.
He closed his eyes peacefully as he struck the last key, and it was over way too quickly for him.
He nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard the familiar voice behind