A young man walked calmly across the hard, slippery cement of the campus. In the cool New England air, he stared at the stars. The mist that had been constantly plaguing Boston had suddenly ceased to exist, and Orion had jumped at the chance to see the stars. The only connection he had to his mother was his love of astronomy. He sat down on the pavement, only a whisper of color on the dreary curb. Orion leaned back and gazed at the icy brightness of the constellations, and drifted off into a stolid doze.


At the same time, on the other side of Berklee College of Music, Aurora Holland sat on her bed, numbed with pain. She had just stubbed her toe on her bed, invoking red-hot agony. She signed, glad the day was done. Thinking back to her day, she winced. As she had walked into the piano room, she could feel the stares on her. And then the whispers started.
“Look, she’s blind! How does she expect to play?”
“I know, god that’s weird. Her eyes are so creepy, they just stare at nothing.” Aurora wished she could stand up for herself, but she was just so shy and timid. No one, except for Jamie, knew the real her. Just the thought of Jamie made her stomach heave. “Time for the sleeping medication.” Aurora thought grimly. After she found the chalky white pills, she popped them into her mouth, her time machine to take herself away from reality.


Early the next morning, Orion struggled to walk to the piano room. His joints were creaky and stiff from the long night on the damp cement. On the piano room door, the project list for the next trimester was in place. Orion’s finger skimmed down the list, and a cloud of dread appeared in his stomach. He had been assigned a duet with some girl, an Aurora Holland.


Orion walked quickly out of the building, heading for a coffee shop. He ordered his usual chai latte in a daze. As he slumped in his chair with his beverage, a million thoughts raced through his head, all centered on his antipathy towards socializing.


Aurora felt her excitement build up as she approached the assignment sheet. She heard someone’s steps thudding nearby.
“Excuse me”, she murmured, “but can you please find my name on this list?”
“Of course.” replied a silky female voice, “What is your name?”
“Aurora Holland.”
“Ah yes. It says here that you are required to play a duet with Orion Renard. Rehearsal time is 11 o’clock in room 521.”
“Thank you.” Aurora managed to squeak out. She had thought she would have her own solo piece to work on, not a duet.

Later that day at 11, two people were slowly making their way towards room 521, nether knowing what to expect. Orion saw Aurora walking up the hallway from him with her cane. “Oh my, she’s blind......how does she except to play?” he thought to himself. He ignored her as he found the key and opened the door. As he entered the room, he heard her voice drifting out.
“You must be Orion.”
“Yes.” he said simply. He seemed so rude and antisocial! Aurora felt her way over to a piano, and sat on the sleek wood bench. Even though she couldn’t see it, she visualized the piano in her mind. Polished black-lacquered wood, ivory keys, and brass pedals. Her fingers grazed the smooth keys, feeling completely at home. From her right, she heard a mournful, complex tune with dissonant chords and angry dynamics coming the other piano. Coming from Orion. When he stopped, she countered with a light arpeggio, changing it up to a melody that floated the air.And as she she played, Orion stared playing over her piece, his unresolved chords ruining her elegant melody, making the sound muddy. After a while of this, Aurora stopped.
“I can’t take it!” she screamed, “This will never work. You play funeral music! Why can’t you be normal?!”
“You don’t know about my life” His voice cut through like a glistening knife.
“Oh well, you think you have it so bad? Well you DON’T! I’m sick of being the content-to-be-blind girl! I live with a heroin-addicted mother who tried to burn my eyes with a fire poker! She did that because I forgot to buy her an extra package of cigarettes!” Her sightless gray eyes filled over with tears.
“My step-father knocked out 5 of my teeth because I brought the wrong shampoo!” she screeched. Orion just sat there silently. Aurora bellowed “I can’t stand you or your music!” and she picked up her cane. Slowly she walked out of the room, leaving Orion at the piano.


That night, Orion lay on the campus green, thinking about Aurora and her troubled eyes. A soft slithering sound awoke him from his thoughts. It was Aurora and her cane.
“My roommate saw you down here.” she said. “I’m sorry for yelling today. You never got a chance to talk.”
“I’m used to it.” Orion whispered. “Until I was twelve I lived in a cardboard box.”
“That’s horrible.” Aurora muttered. Orion cracked a crooked smile, sadness emitted from his green eyes.
“When I turned thirteen, my dad fed me an entire bottle of ammonia. He didn’t want to pay child support for me. I had to go the hospital and get my stomach pumped.”
“That’s sort of what happened to my, only she didn’t make it.” Bile rose in Aurora’s throat as she uttered those words. “Two years ago, I had a friend named Jamie.” Her eyes stung at the memory of her red-haired friend, but she refused to succumb to the tears. “She had just been released from an inpatient program to treat bulimia. I was consoling her, and being someone she could vent to. She said she had to go to the bathroom, and while she was in there, she overdosed on pain pills. Purposely. She told me that she was tired and wanted to sleep. I never knew that she was killing herself. I could have stopped her.......but I didn’t. I just walked on home.” By now the tears were running down Aurora’s face, leaving a pearly tracks on her cheeks. Orion didn’t know how to handle this. He sat there awkwardly until Aurora quietly stood up and walked back to her dorm. He remained on the lawn, his breath like icy fire penetrating the air.


The next day, Aurora went to the practice room early, and started to play. She had spent half the night listening to the 3rd movement from Pictures at an Exhibition, composed by Mussorgsky. The 3rd movement was called The Old Castle, and it had an air of mystery that captivated Aurora. Its haunting melody and phrases flowed from her brain to her thin, light fingers, moving on the cool ivory. She was so absorbed in her music, she hadn’t realized that Orion was standing at the door. Watching her. He walked in, and started providing a spine-chilling harmony that blended perfectly with her playing. They went into a synchronized rallentando, and ended the piece on a minor, but beautiful chord.


As the note hovered in the air, Aurora was called back to a memory of the past. She was seven years old, and just beginning to get serious about playing the piano. She was excited to play her mom the new song she had learned, Fur Elise. Little Aurora’s golden brown curls bounced against her back as she dragged her mom to the piano bench. After she had played the tune, she eagerly turned to her mom to see her expression. Her mother’s smile had blossomed over her face in pride of her daughter. “That was the last time she smiled like that.” thought Aurora to herself, “then Dad left us, and she went to drugs.”

She was jolted back to the present as her elbow slipped, and jangled the keys making an ear-wincing sound.
“I’m going to go get some lunch. Do you want to come with me to the deli?” asked Aurora.
“I’ll come but I think I’ll just get some tea at the cafe.”


“One chai latte for Orion!” yelled the cashier. Orion took his drink; seeing Aurora preparing to cross the street from the deli. As he opened the door, the screeching of tires made his head snap up.


Aurora felt sharp knives stabbing her body everywhere. The tang of blood was rancid in the air. She imagined being washed by waves of red, each bringing more pain and aches. And as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Aurora faded off into blackness, never again to hear the beautiful melodies of music.


Two years from Aurora’s death, Orion was working hard in the piano room. He felt numb, still in shock at what had happened. He felt like she had unfinished work on Earth; she should have had more of a life. He decided to take out all his emotion on a requiem he was composing for her, the one person who had understood him. He named it “When Stars Collide”. It was light and joyful, but quickly ventured to become complex and dark, full of rich tritones and dissonant triads. Much like Aurora herself, Orion realized. She had seemed so simple, yet she was a myriad of dark thoughts and troubles. After months of labor, Orion’s magnum opus was complete. He opened the window to get a breeze, and couldn’t help himself glancing at the stars. He had avoided the sky after her death; feeling guilty for taking joy in anything. Orion saw a new star, shining bright white, like a clear-cut diamond. He whispered her name, and the star seemed to twinkle at him. “Thank you Aurora”, he whispered “for everything.”