As the last few notes and chords of our piano duet die away, I can not help but glance to my right, smiling at what I see. Sitting beside me at the instrument is an elated, hot, tired, sweaty, beautiful mare, her chest heaving after the passion she had put into her playing. Rachmanintrot's preludes are not for the faint of heart, but between us we had carried it off to perfection, with not a single note wrong.
Not that I expected we would make a mistake. Months of practising until we were note-perfect had seen to that. But under the tensions and stresses of a public recital, with all of Ponyville hanging our every key-stroke, I had been afraid that something would go wrong. All it took was a slight lapse of memory, a twitch of the hoof, the right chord at the wrong time, and it would all have been for nought.
My fears were misplaced, however. Despite a degree of distraction in the mind of my companion, we fully deserved the rapturous applause the village's inhabitants were giving us. And had that distraction been the cause of something more serious in the standard of our playing, I would have had only myself to blame, though I know she would have blamed herself equally.
Allow me to explain. When I first moved to Ponyville, I knew nopony. I had no friends, no close family, and certainly nopony with whom to share my love of music. I was vaguely acquainted with Ms Scratch, but knew that she would not share my enjoyment of classical music. Her tastes were very different to my own. That barrier notwithstanding, however, I asked her if she knew of anypony else who would be more interested, and she directed me to the Ponyville Classical Music Society. I hadn't know of its existence before then, but found it to be very much to my liking. I joined the society within a week.
I quickly made several firm friends amongst those at the society, and they introduced me to their associates. Soon I was able to list at least seven ponies as being my close friends, and became a happier and more self-fulfilled pony as a result. As well as a common interest in music, we shared many of the same views on other matters, for example a love of history, religion, and the Arts. I became increasingly drawn to these ponies, and cared deeply for them.
But no matter how close we became as a group, there was always one who stood out to me as somepony special. I first met her at my second meeting at the Classical Music Society; I was delayed by losing my sheet music, and she had already begun playing when I finally arrived. She was standing, alone, on the stage, with the lights shining down on her. I had never known before that evening just how clear and wondrous the cello could sound, and listened with rapt attention until the final, warbling threads of music faded into silence. Everypony clapped as she stepped down from the stage, but she merely smiled demurely and sat back in her seat to allow somepony else to play. That smile... it captured my mind as soon as I first saw it, and has still not let go.
Later in the evening, as soon as the chance came, I went over to where she sat in the corner, retuning the strings of her instrument. I couldn't think of anything to say that sounded quite right, and eventually had to settle with “I'm sorry I got here so late... I only heard the end of your cello solo.”
She looked up at me from where she sat and gave me that smile, that wonderful smile, and instantly I knew she wasn't offended. “That's quite alright. Did you like it?”
I nodded earnestly. “Yes indeed, very much so. I've never heard the cello played so...” Words failed me again, and she cut in to save my embarrassment.
“Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Do you play the cello?”
“No, I'm afraid not. Only the piano and the flute. But I love the sound of the cello.”
She stood up. “I play the piano too. Maybe we could try a duet sometime?”
To this I hastily agreed, looking forward to it greatly. After further general chatter, she asked my name. I told her, and said that she was called 'Octavia Melody, but my friends call me Octavia'. Before we had time to talk for much longer it was my turn to play on the stage, which I did, having picked a sonata of Beethoofen's. Shortly thereafter the evening came to a close, but not before Octavia and I had arranged to meet up regularly to practise learning a piano duet together.
Since our very first meeting, I knew there was something different about her. The way she talked, the way she walked, the way she smiled... I couldn't put my hoof on what it was that drew me to her, but I missed her when we weren't together. I began looking forward to our weekly practice sessions more and more, and felt empty whenever either of us couldn't be there. Another friend of mine, Big Macintosh, began giving me 'knowing glances', and in the end suggested, in his direct way, that I take Octavia out for a meal somewhere. In truth I had thought about doing so before, but didn't want to push my luck with her. If she learnt about the feelings I had for her and didn't reciprocate them, I might end up simply pushing her away entirely. The thought of losing our friendship was just... ...and so I did nothing for several weeks.
Eventually, however, at one of the society meetings, I decided to act. I had arrived earlier than usual, and Octavia was not yet there; only one other pony, a mutual close friend of ours, a minty-green unicorn by the name of Lyra Heartstrings, had arrived before me. After a few minutes of whimsical chat she suddenly stopped talking and looked me in the eye. “Can I ask you something?”
After I agreed, somewhat cautiously, she went on: “You do know how Octavia feels about you, don't you?”
This wasn't what I had expected. I replied that no, I didn't know how she felt about me. She closed her eyes, chuckling softly, and muttered something about the ignorance of stallions. Then she spoke.
“Seriously? You have no idea at all?” I repeated what I had said, and she grinned widely. “I don't know if I should let you work it our for yourself or not, but somehow I think that'll take a very long time. So instead I'll just tell you.” She breathed deeply, once, before saying something that shocked my to the core. “Octavia loves you, can't you tell?”
Seeing me blinking and stammering in disbelief, she went on: “Everypony else can see exactly how you two feel about each other, why can't you see it yourselves? Just tell her! Tell her how you feel about her and ask her out for a meal. She won't say no, I guarantee it!”
And with that, the others started arriving, and our conversation ended. Octavia was not amongst them, however, and I began to fear that she was not coming. As always, the evening began with a few ponies taking it in turns to play a piece they had learnt over the preceding week, and Lyra had already begun strumming composedly on her lyre when the door slowly opened, and Octavia trotted quietly inside.
My heart began racing as I turned round to see her. She caught my eye and looked away quickly, before smiling nervously and clip-clopping softly to sit down on the cushion next to mine. I couldn't help but feel suddenly rather hot, almost having to fan myself to stay comfortable. I glanced at Octavia and caught her eye again, before both of us quickly turned back to face the stage. Lyra was just finishing, and she gave me a 'raised-eyebrows' expression which stated, clearly, “well, go on then!” as she stepped down from the stage.
It was Big Mac and the 'Ponytones', a group consisting of him and four others who frequently sang together, who were up next. They took a few minutes getting ready, and I knew that I had to ask Octavia now, before my nerve left me completely.
I turned to look at her and began speaking, just as she did the same. We both stopped, embarrassed, before she motioned to me to continue, which I did. “Octavia, I was just – I was wondering if, if maybe you'd... if maybe you'd like to, er, to come to a res– a restaurant, with me, after the group ends this evening...” I trailed off, worried I'd said too much.
After a couple of seconds, however, my fears were laid to rest as she blinked at me, smiling widely. “Yes! I mean, I – that would be lovely... yes please.”
We sat there for a moment, looking into each others' eyes, before the almost unnoticeable clapping of Lyra's hooves sounded behind us. Blushing, Octavia and I spun in out seats to look at her. As the lights dimmed for the Ponytones the minty-green unicorn merely smiled innocently at us.
The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur. After the end of the Classical Music Society meeting, Octavia and I walked to the nearby restaurant of 'The Royal Rose', and enjoyed a simple yet delicious meal, content to be in our own company. I had never felt happier in my entire life, and from the look in her eye I don't think Octavia had either. After the meal – for which I insisted I pay, of course – I walked my lovely companion safely home, and left her with an agreement to meet up again the following day.
I can say with absolute confidence that the next new weeks were the best of my life, and made me gladder than ever that I had decided to make the move to Ponyville. We saw each other at least twice a week, and usually three or four times. We took to going for walks in the countryside surrounding the village, sometimes stopping for a while on the hills above Ponyville for a picnic. It was on one of these walks, just as we were returning home in the late afternoon, that I espied a poster which had been nailed to the parish notice board. Upon reading it, Octavia and I were pleased to learn that an evening concert was to be performed by local ponies on the village green within the following fortnight, and that all musical contributions were welcome.
Octavia turned to me in delight. “How about we enter the concert? We could perform the piano duet we've been practising! We're almost good enough already, and we've got two more weeks to learn it.”
That sounded to me like an excellent idea, and I agreed immediately. We walked to the parish council offices straight away and put our names down, for just before the interval. Then we made our sedate way back to Octavia's little flat, before parting until the morrow.
The next couple of weeks passed by quickly, with the pair of us meeting frequently to finish preparing ourselves for the recital. As the time drew ever closer I was surprised so find myself becoming increasingly nervous, and I could tell Octavia was having the same problem. We met for one final time in the mid-afternoon of the day of the concert, and played the prelude through without fault. Then, as the concert was beginning, we went our separate ways to finish getting ready for our piece.
For some time since our first meal together I had realised that I had found the mare I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I could think of no way I could possibly be happier than when I was in her company, and the thought of not being with her filled me with a feeling of emptiness. As the time approached and the act before us began playing, I stood in my suit, waiting behind the stage door, for the mare I loved above all others. She arrived three minutes before we were due on... her appearance quite took my breath away.
She was dressed in a simple, flowing dress which accentuated her natural physical appeal whilst leaving her forehooves free to play the piano without being hindered. At her neck was a white choke with a pretty pink bow, but she had left her mane loose, leaving it to fall down over her withers in a jet black cascade. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and she blushed at my enraptured expression.
As the previous act ended and the ponies began walking of the stage, I couldn't hold in my feelings for her any longer. “Octavia! I need to ask you something before we play. You don't have to answer now, but I just – I love you, Octavia, more than anything... come and live with me! We can make a go of it, I know we can! When I'm not around you I don't feel right, I need you to be with me...”
I trailed off at the shocked expression on her face, fearing I'd said the wrong thing. What have I done? But as we were called up to the stage she smiled at me, that same demure, modest smile that she had had the first time I met her, and I knew that there was hope, that she would at least think about what I'd said. Then we sat down at the piano, and played. We played for the audience gathered below us, we played for the joy of playing and, at least in my case, we played for love. I had told her I loved her, and now I had to show it by helping her play the entire duet perfectly.
And that brings my tale up to the present. As the last few notes and chords of our piano duet die away, I can not help but glance to my right, smiling at what I see. Sitting beside me at the instrument is an elated, hot, tired, sweaty, beautiful mare, her chest heaving after the passion she had put into her playing. She turns to look at me, elation written all over her wonderful features. We lock eyes, breathing quickly, before simultaneously leaning towards each other, our lips meeting in the heat of romantic fervour.
After what feels like an eternity but which I know can only have been a few sweet seconds, we break apart, panting for air. The crowd are cheering for us, and we look down at them before meeting eyes once more. She kisses me gently on the cheek, blushing warmly. She takes my hoof in hers and whispers a single word, just one, simple word that fills me with all the delight and excitement imaginable:
“Yes.”
Holding tight to each other we stand as one, I and my wonderful new marefriend, ready to begin the next chapter of our life together.