From that day on, I changed my routine slightly. Instead of settling on the stool to practise as soon as Hisashi closed his eyes for his morning nap, I first took a trip to the lobby to pick up the mail.

Not because I was expecting anything to come of Sensei's crazy application, but more because I didn't want Okasan to see the rejection letter. She'd automatically assume it was me who'd wanted to leave Japan, not my teacher who'd tried to decide my path.

After all, rejection was inevitable. I'd read every page of the school's website one evening when Hisashi couldn't sleep, and attending would be any musician's dream. Located in Boston, the conservatory was founded in the 1980s after an endowment from a wealthy industrialist. The money enabled them to offer each student a full scholarship while they were taught to play their chosen instrument to a world-class standard. I'd spent most of that night watching videos of the students' performances, and the magic of Bach, Liszt and Chopin almost sent my soul straight to Haneda Airport to get on a plane.

One look at my now-sleeping baby acted as brakes on that dream, though. That and an internet search revealing the school's rate of acceptance was just ten percent, or around twenty-five students a year. I had more chance of playing for the emperor than I did of getting a live audition.

Then the letter arrived.

A slim cream envelope, not unlike the one Sensei had left me, although that one lay dog-eared in my desk while this one had a Boston postmark. The instant I grasped it in my hand, I half-ran to the elevator and jabbed the button, ignoring Daiki's curious glance.

The elevator rose slowly, far too slowly. The child in me wanted to rip the envelope open and get it over with, but I forced myself to wait. In truth, I couldn't make up my mind what I wanted the letter to say. The easy option would be a flat no, and I could stick with my safe, comfortable life in Tokyo. My dull life. My boring, lonely life.

But there was a part of me, one planted as a small seed by Sensei which had grown and spread over the past few weeks, that wished for acceptance and the chance at a different life.

In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I quickly checked on Hisashi in the attached nursery then perched on the edge of my bed. Fingers trembling, I unpeeled the flap of the envelope, extracted the two thick sheets of paper inside, and started reading.

Dear Miss Takeda,

Thank you for applying to the Holborn Conservatory. Although we wouldn't usually accept students who have not completed high school, it was clear from the accompanying recommendation and recording that we should give your application further consideration.

We would, therefore, like to invite you to attend an assessment day at our campus in Boston on August 12th. As well as a live audition before a committee of faculty members, your knowledge of music theory and ear training will be reviewed by one of our teachers, plus you will need to take an essay writing exam. The day will finish with an interview conducted by one of our senior administrators.

The dean's signature ended the letter with a flourish, and I flipped to the second page. It gave more details of the time and place and included a list of hotels in the area, making the situation all the more real.

Boston.

I'd only spent a few months in North America, in Virginia to be precise, and I'd been surrounded by my family and people from Blackwood. The thought of making the journey alone terrified me, especially in just two short weeks.

But as I sat down at my Steinway grand five minutes later, and my fingers went to the keys like it was where they belonged, the voice in my head I'd ignored for so long told me I had to try. If you stay in Tokyo, you'll be the same nothing you've always been. After a botched attempt at Debussy and an awkward cup of tea with my mother, I came to the conclusion that I needed to talk to somebody about the problem. But who?

Not my family, and not that awful therapist. There was only one man. He'd said to call him anytime, day or night, but I rarely picked up the phone. Hisashi's uncle had his own life, and if not for the bizarre twist of fate that threw us together, our paths would never have crossed. Still, as a kind and patient man, I knew he'd listen to what I had to say without judgement.

"It's Akari," I said when he picked up the phone.

"Is everything all right?"

He had to know there was nothing physically wrong—Daiki would have called him in a heartbeat if there was a problem.

"Yes. Well, I'm not sure. I have a...dilemma."

Over the next few minutes, it all spilled out—Sensei's death, my worries about the future, the fear of hurting my family and finally, the offer from Boston.

"I can't decide what to do. I'm scared to go to Boston, but I'm also scared not to."

"Where do you see yourself in five years' time?"

"I don't know. I never think of the future."

The one time I'd dared to, I'd hoped for a life with Hisashi's father, and that dream had been destroyed.

"You need to change that mindset. If you don't have a goal, you'll drift through life until it's too late, and then you'll look back and wonder what you could have achieved if you'd only tried."

"So you think I should go?"

"I think you should decide what you want out of life and go all out to get it."

Silence stretched between us as I reflected on his words. In five years, ten, did I want to be sitting in this same room? My brother would be at work, Hisashi would be in fifth grade, and my parents would be in their seventies. I could easily waste a decade through inertia.

And in twenty years? My brother would surely meet a girl and marry, Hisashi would be at university, and my parents...well, nobody lived forever. I knew that all too well. If I didn't change my path, I'd still be right here, sitting in front of the piano and staring out at a changing world I played no part in.

"How do I book a flight?" I asked softly.