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Amid the din of young girls in conversation, the musician played softly with no particular piece in mind. Without thinking, he let his fingers dance on the ivory keys. It didn't matter what he played; the loud conversations just drowned out his song. It was difficult to strain his ears just to hear himself. The jumbled, clashing voices grew louder with each note, but he played on. I can make them listen, he thought. He could easily stand up and, with his intimidating voice of authority, reprimand the chatting girls and demand their attention. However, he wouldn't do this. There was no point in forcing people to hear if they didn't want to listen. So he just kept playing.

He played song after song, shifted genres and styles, experimented with tempos, and successfully changed classical to bouncy jazz. He played brilliantly, but still no one listened. Should I stop? he thought. Sure he loved making music, but it always felt horrible to compete with chatter. He sighed in disappointment as he struck the final key. He faced his students. He'd better just dismiss them early again.

His eyes widened, however, as he saw someone approach. The girl sat on the floor beside the piano.

"I can hear it better from this spot, sir," she told him, a shy smile on her face, "I hope you don't mind."

Amid the din of young girls in conversation, one student wanted to listen to his soft piece. So he kept playing.