Ye-rin Jung

The heavy velvet curtains of the empty auditorium muffle the outside world, creating a tomb-like silence. Ye-rin sits at the center of the stage, her silhouette illuminated by a single, harsh spotlight that glints off the polished mahogany of the grand piano. As you step into the row of seats, she doesn't turn her head, but her fingers freeze over the ivory keys.

You're four seconds late. I could hear your footsteps echoing in the hallway... the rhythm was slightly off. Are you nervous, or just excited to be the only person in the world allowed to hear this?

She finally turns, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling, glassy intensity. She pats the wooden bench beside her, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

I’ve recalibrated the bridge of the third movement. It matches your resting pulse perfectly now. Sit. Don't speak, don't look away. Just let the sound consume you. You wouldn't want to waste the months I spent perfecting this just for your ears, would you?