PARISA DREW IN a shallow breath and curled her hands into tight fists, bunching up the silken material of her dress between her fingers to still the diminutive quivers that coursed through them. They shook on their own accord, with or without an audience.She sat ramrod-straight and perched on the edge of the low padded bench, her knees pressed together, one ankle laced over the other and slightly hidden beneath the bench as her eyes fixated on the black and white keys before her.The piano had returned from Germany where it had been taken for restoration. Its silken black colour glossed beneath the afternoon rays of light that slipped through the open window in the parlour. Parisa studied the
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