Sophie was at it again; playing that darn thing in the middle of the night. I jumped out of my bed as usual, but this time I could not return to sleep. I reached for my torch in the dark. Grudgingly, I walked out of my apartment towards her room. I rammed my fist on the door repeatedly until she opened it. The anger I felt died as I saw her.

She was wearing an oversize old-fashioned night dress. Her hair was a complete mess and her usually perfect makeup was smudged all over her face. She held onto her flute like a lifeline and stared at me helplessly. My feet were planted to the ground and my heart ached for her. She stepped back and let me in.

The flute was her father's. He had taught her when she was little. After she lost him to a fatal accident a year ago, she played the flute every night to remember him. I let her cry on my shoulder as I patted her head. My father had died too, but he had been a monster who had broken most of mama's bones . I did not feel her pain.