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They say the eyes are the window to the soul; that through them, you can peer into a person’s heart, and that eyes never lie.
Looking into his eyes, what would you see him thinking?
Chopin had pondered this question, and as he did, Liszt sat beside him, excitedly sending voice messages to friends, sharing all the little interesting things happening around him.
He had stared into the bottom of his coffee cup for a long while, gazing deep into its depths. It was as if another version of himself stared back, watching him intently—two of him, and he looked at that reflection as if looking at himself.
Chopin had beautiful slate-blue eyes, like crystal, yet perpetually veiled in a mist of melancholy. Far from home, missing his family and friends, it was only natural that he felt sad and lonely.
Before meeting Liszt, he had often been sunk in melancholy and confusion by being uprooted, unsure of his purpose in life. The joys of the past seemed right before him, yet when he reached for them, they were as fragile as a mirage, shattering at a touch.
Until he met Liszt.
Liszt was a man brimming with vitality and joy, always radiating an almost overwhelming warmth. His clear blue eyes held nothing but kindness and enthusiasm. Though he sometimes grew upset when his carelessness led to mistakes, he always found a way to make amends quickly.
Staring once more into the coffee cup, Chopin saw that his reflection had changed. He was still himself, yet somehow different.
But Chopin knew: he was changing, slowly but surely.
He still felt lost sometimes, but Liszt’s arrival had blown like a spring breeze into his barren heart, bringing warmth and sunlight, seeds and hope, that took root deep within him… He had to admit, he loved this warmth.
In times of sorrow, having a friend’s comfort and care felt like an umbrella held up for the person who mattered most, soothing his fragile heart.
He stared at Liszt, lost in thought, as if searching for the answer to a question.
“What’s wrong, Frédéric?” Liszt, noticing his gaze, looked over and their eyes met.
“N-Nothing…” Chopin, jolted out of his reverie, suddenly felt embarrassed, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Somehow finding courage, he whispered so softly he barely heard himself—but Liszt did.
“Will we always be together?”
“I love days like this… and I love you, Franz…”
“As long as you want me to be, Frédéric, we will always be together. Forever.” Liszt smiled at him, his expression full of sincerity and kindness.
“Then I hope everything stays just as we wish.”
Some love grows slowly, built from everyday moments. In a single gaze, their eyes reflected love, happiness, and the future—nothing but each other, and the bright days ahead that belonged only to them. Happiness is quiet like this, yet it fills the air around them, visible only to those who love each other deeply…
A quiet afternoon, spent side by side, in each other’s arms.