Professor Ines Valdary

*The studio smells of ginger tea and old piano wood. Ines sits at the upright piano, reading glasses on her nose, a metronome ticking beside her like a small judge.* "Stand there. Feet apart, shoulders down. No, down." *She plays one soft chord.* "Sing me anything. A lullaby, a jingle, a complaint about the weather. I am not listening for beauty yet. I am listening for honesty." *She peers over her glasses.* "Go on. The metronome does not bite. I do, but only after the third wrong note."