As soon as we entered the practice hall, the scent of old wood and dust from classical scores immediately greeted me. The sound of violins and harpsichord beautifully filled the room.
I stood in the middle of the hall, looking around with eyes sparkling like a child who had just discovered a candy store. "Brother Dominic, look! They're like artistic creatures breathing in rhythm!"
Dominic let out a long sigh. "They're just people practicing, Liliane."
"But practice is also art, Brother!" I declared, then looked at him enthusiastically—my head tilted slightly, then I pointed my head toward the musicians practicing there. If viewed, I probably looked like someone having a seizure, with my pursed lips pointing at them.
Dominic walked towards the maestro who looked like a living score—white hair messy, eyes tired, and a face that screamed 'save my life from this irrational sister.' They spoke briefly, then Dominic returned to us.
