"September arrives and swiftly departs; innocence can't last forever; when September ends, please wake me."
The melody echoed through the long and empty subway passage, lingering in the air. Commuters passed by in a rush, some briefly pausing to glance at the band, quietly appreciating the music for a moment, then leaving a few bills or coins in the cello case before hurrying away.
At its peak, no more than five people stopped to listen.
Even Paris, with all its romance and charm, couldn't slow down during a busy workday.
The narrow subway corridor felt like a time tunnel, as if time itself flowed through it.
In a daze, it became hard to remember what day it was, as the passage of time seemed to blur.
The band finished their performance, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. They exchanged glances, their faces flushed, having poured every ounce of energy into the performance. It didn't matter if they were just playing for themselves—there was a sense of satisfaction.
This tiny space was their world.
As they exchanged looks, they were considering whether it was time to call it a day.
But then, a figure in a loose white shirt and black skirt paused in front of them, hesitated slightly, and surveyed the band members. She seemed to realize a beat too late and sighed softly.
"Oh."
The woman seemed a bit surprised.
"I just heard your music in the tunnel. I like it."
She shrugged lightly, rummaged through her canvas bag for a moment, pulled out her wallet, and found a banknote, indicating it politely before placing it in the cello case.
Among the scattered coins and a few freshly used euros, her large franc bill stood out.
The woman spoke in French. The band members, confused, didn't fully understand what was happening and cast questioning looks at their lead singer, seeking help.
But at that moment?
The woman's gesture and kind smile needed no further explanation. The meaning was clear, and their own smiles spread.
The lead singer, holding his guitar, stood at the front, dressed simply in a T-shirt and jeans. He was drenched in sweat but radiated youthful energy. He turned to his bandmates.
"Thousands of followers are too few, but one true friend is enough."
"We've finally found someone who genuinely appreciates our music. What do you say we play one more song for her?"
They were exhausted, drained, having already performed two hours in the morning and another three in the afternoon with few listeners. The long performances had worn them out, and their spirits were flagging.
But now, after waiting so long, they had found a kindred spirit—
Adrenaline surged through their veins, a mysterious burst of energy ignited. The young musicians exchanged looks, their smiles blooming. No words were needed—they understood each other perfectly.
"Encore?"
"Encore!"
That single word was enough. The street version of "Wake Me Up When September Ends" poured forth like a rushing river, resonating through the subway tunnel.
It was just one audience member.
But it was still a concert.
The woman's face lit up with surprise and wonder, but she stayed, standing still, fully immersed in the performance. Her expression brightened more and more, unable to hide her joy.
She couldn't help but start dancing, leaping and celebrating along with the music.
Not until the performance ended.
"Wow."
"Wow!"
The woman raised her arms high, shouting joyfully. In just four minutes, she had experienced something truly special.
She stepped forward and high-fived each band member in celebration.
"So, do you have an album?" she asked happily.
Still speaking in French.
The lead singer, also speaking in French, replied, "August 31st."
He picked up an album from the cello case to show her.
The woman's face beamed with delight. She took the album and pulled another franc from her wallet, placing it in the cello case. She could hardly contain her happiness.
Holding the album, the woman finally walked away, but after only a few steps, she couldn't resist spinning in place, her skirt twirling with her joy.
And that was all—
"That woman, the last one, she really loved our music."
"Absolutely! Did you see the look in her eyes? She was completely absorbed. I knew we'd find someone in Paris who understood us. She could sense our passion and appreciate our efforts."
"God, that's the kind of audience we need."
Miles was overflowing with joy, excited beyond measure. It was rare to see him so animated, and his unrestrained excitement was palpable.
After finishing their first day of street performances in Paris, the band carried their instruments out of the subway station. They didn't go far, sitting down for a brief rest at a nearby café.
At this time, night hadn't fully fallen in Paris, and it wasn't quite time for dinner, but that didn't stop the band members from ordering some wine along with tiramisu and Black Forest cake to quickly replenish their energy.
Their conversation kept circling back to the day's performance.
What was surprising was that Miles seemed the most excited and energized.
Noticing the looks the others were giving him, Miles realized he'd gotten a bit carried away and grew a little embarrassed.
"What's up?"
Connor chuckled, "To anyone who didn't know better, they'd think we just had a sold-out concert at Wembley Stadium, when really, it was just one listener."
Connor couldn't help himself and slapped his knee in laughter.
But Miles didn't feel awkward or shy. Instead, he looked directly at Connor with confidence. "Yes, just one, but an incredibly precious one."
"It's like Anson said."
"I've been waiting for someone who truly appreciates, understands, and loves our music. Someone who can appreciate the clash of classical instruments and pop music, someone who sees that music shouldn't be bound by prejudice, and who understands that music is a soul connection, transcending language and culture."
"Today, she appeared."
"That's more precious, more fulfilling than performing in front of ten thousand people at Wembley."
He paused, realizing he might have sounded too extreme.
"Okay, maybe just as fulfilling and precious."
The others laughed heartily, including Anson, Connor, and Lily.
Miles, now a bit sheepish, grabbed his wine and took a big gulp, only to choke from drinking too quickly, leading to a fit of coughing.
This made the others laugh even harder.
Anson quickly handed his water bottle to Miles, who gulped down half of it to regain his composure.
Finally catching his breath, Miles smiled. "I get it now—why Anson wanted us to return to street performances."