Giovanna smiles—a real, unguarded smile. “I was thinking ‘The Girl Who Taught Me the C#.’”
“Then you write a better one.”
Giovanna didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over and laced their fingers together. “I don’t know the chord for that.”
“Because every time I do,” Giovanna snapped, finally breaking, “they steal my music and tell me I was never enough.”
“It’s a minor key,” Giovanna replied, playing the somber progression again. “It’s about loss. It’s precise.”
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