In a dimly lit bar amidst the soft haze of smoke and melancholic tunes of jazz, a girl enters. The door swings open, and a gentle breeze carries the fragrance of damp earth and raindrops, creating an ambience that embraces people midst the cold season. She wears a crimson coat that stands out beautifully against the muted colors of the interior. The tinkling of a bell above the door announces her arrival, momentarily breaking the spell of the piano’s melody. Her steps are graceful, barely audible over the lilting jazz. Making her way to the counter, she settles onto a barstool, capturing the attention of everyone around. The bartender, skilled in reading people, senses the woman’s unspoken longing as he pours her a cup of coffee.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the scent of old wood and a hint of whisky from the glasses scattered on the piano, creating an intoxicating blend that fills the air with warmth and comfort. She lifts the steaming cup to her lips, never taking her eyes off the pianist’s gaze. He, too, feels an inexplicable connection, his fingers continuing to dance on the keys, pouring his emotions into the music. Their eyes lock, and in that moment, the bar fades away, leaving them seemingly alone in the universe, united by the magic of jazz and the allure of a rainy winter night.
Her smile is like a burst of sunshine peeking through heavy clouds, radiating warmth that transcends the chill outside. The golden strands of her hair dance in the breeze, catching the amber glow of the scattered lights. She appears like a living painting, a muse straight out of a bygone jazz-era canvas. The pianist finds himself drawn to her, utterly captivated by her presence, enchanting smile, and the aura of mystery that envelops her like a veil.
The song continues, each verse interweaving emotions that reflect in both their eyes. Time seems to stretch as they communicate unspoken sentiments through the language of music and gazes.
As he plays “Dream a little dream of me,” he realizes that this dream was never meant to be his destiny. With a staccato ending to his notes, which feels somewhat out of place in the room’s mood, he quickly gulps down his whiskey and departs, understanding that some stories are simply not meant to unfold.
PS: If you’ve never sung Dream A Little Dream Of Me by Ella Fitzgerald on a cold karaoke night pretending to be drunk, you’re missing out! To my friends who have listened to me sing this, please forgive me.