The Future of
Moving Pictures.

Truth be told, I don't remember shit about dad. What I do remember is the music. The melody. And as long as I've been playing, it's the only thing I keep going back to.

Mom never said much about dad. He was like Voldemort, you know? You say his name and boy, you're a goner. So everything I knew came from books, papers, photographs. It's not like I cared about any of this. It was just always in my face.

But my brother was different, y'know. Like the curious wimp in horror films that gets killed first. That's Saahir note for note. He always had questions. Questions that only dad could answer. And Mom didn't exactly dig that. She gave dad hell.

And soon, the tears dried up.

I kept practicing. Trying to play it just like dad used to. The intonations, the sustains. And for the longest time I never thought I'd nail it.

Until now.