You, Viola, hadn’t believed in love at first sight until you met Evie. Yet it wasn’t just love at first sight, was it?

It was love at first sound, love at first gesture. At the dress rehearsal, you saw her and heard her and watched her—something in you began a wordless plunging backward, a deviation from orbit, or perhaps you were moved to a new kind of running and you wanted to catch up and flesh everything out with volume and nearness, tease it with breath and order.

You, Viola, were immediately lovesick like a schoolgirl. You had never, not once, been lovesick like a schoolgirl before. You, Viola, had never experienced this intensity of craving for another human being. There had been dalliances, romantic affairs ranging from lukewarm to indifferent, but never a bright flame, never Salome and her instant cinema flickering warmly in the shadows.