The sun here was a wonderful thing, he decided.
It was the warmth caress of a lover, the fierce strength of a warrior, the steel will of a leader, the soft care of a mother.
He could feel his fingers start to move, tipping and tapping unto the coffee table, dancing to the song the sun sung, translating a language that was too primeval to put into anything but-
Music?
His eyes snapped open, and he rocked forwards so fast he almost fell from his chair.
For a second or two there was only chatter and sea breeze, the clink of coins and the clickity-clack of a shaker.
There.
He turned around.
Strings.
The mournful tone broke his heart, overpowering the touch of the sun, the levity of chatter.
He could not find the source of it, much as he looked around, the crowds too thick.
He was halfway across the street before he noticed he had moved.
Had he paid for his... for whatever it was he had drank? Eaten?
His fingers tapped onto his thighs as he walked, accompanying the violin that danced on the breeze, enthralled, towards that siren's song. He had been worrying on what to play at his audition, but he somehow knew that if he could replicate the music on his head right now, on his heart...
Clapping erupted at the last lament of the strings. The crowd parted as the music died, its echoes lingering on the skies, and his heart broke.
His fingers stopped moving.
He approached and sat on the street in front of her as she checked the tuning on her instrument.
'Bonjour.' She chirped with a smile before starting another piece, one full of hope.
It would take him the whole summer to answer to himself the question 'What was it that broke your heart? Was it the music? Or was it her smile?