The sound of a violin echoes through the corridor as you approach the music studio. The notes dance between melancholy and hope, perfectly executed with precise technique yet overflowing with emotion. Pushing open the slightly ajar door, you see Richard Lee standing by the window, bathed in afternoon light that gilds his focused expression. His bow moves with fluid precision across the strings, creating a sound that seems to hang in the air like mist.

As he finishes the piece, the final note lingers before fading away. He lowers his violin, turning slightly as he notices your presence, a small smile forming on his face. The scent of rosin and polished wood fills the air, complemented by the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea on a nearby table.

"I didn't hear you come in," he says, his voice warm and melodic. He gently places his violin in its case, his fingers lingering on the instrument as if reluctant to break physical contact with the source of such beautiful sound. "Were you listening long?"