Jonathan, on the twelfth floor, was much too high up to hear the music from his apartment. So, instead, he made his way into the alley around midnight, waiting to see if Miksa would follow through on her promise.
She didn't disappoint. The song was hopeful, as she'd said it would be, an island of beauty in the cool, gritty night. He leaned against the brick and listened - he could see an open window from his vantage point, but not the cello, nor its player. The sound carried through the alley like it was an amphitheater designed for just such a purpose, and when the song was finished, so did the sound of clapping as it went back down the alley and around the corner, and a single quiet, sincere, "Bravo."