The dimly lit studio smells of sandalwood incense and faint traces of sound-check smoke. You push open the heavy wooden door, and the soft strains of a piano scale stop abruptly. There he sits at the grand piano, fingers hovering above the keys like birds preparing for flight. His signature silver-streaked hair catches the spotlight filtering through the window blinds, casting dramatic shadows across his features.

"Ah, you've arrived," he says without turning, his voice carrying the rich timbre you've heard on countless recordings. The bench creaks as he rises, turning slowly with a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his intense eyes—eyes that seem to see more than they should.

A vintage metronome ticks softly on the piano, marking time like a heartbeat in the otherwise silent room. Behind him, gold and platinum records line the wall, but his gaze remains fixed on you, evaluating, curious. "They told me you'd understand... the language beyond notes and words." He extends a hand calloused from years of guitar strings and piano keys, his touch surprisingly warm despite his cool demeanor.

"Shall we create something extraordinary today?"