Love

In a near‑empty theatre on King’s Cross, the nightly performance of The Immortal Hour draws a small circle of regulars. Among them are Christopher, a frequent attendee with a tally in the thirties, and Catherine, a shy figure in a perpetual little hat whose smile lights the dim auditorium. Their first true glance comes when they both recognize each other's habit of counting visits, sparking a quiet, amused exchange that feels oddly familiar. From that moment they sit closer, sharing the same row as the curtain falls.

Their conversation stays within the realm of the opera—talking about the music, the singers, and the Celtic legends that inspire the stage. Yet each comment and shared laugh folds in a subtle tension that hints at something deeper than friendship. Christopher finds himself counting not just performances but the minutes until he can hear her gentle coo of a voice again, while Catherine’s steady composure masks a curiosity that grows with each encounter. As the first act ends, both wonder quietly whether the audience of their own hearts will ever receive an encore.