In twilight's glow, where melodies bloom,
A synth's soft hum, dispels the gloom.
A troubadour on the mall's edge fair,
Captures hearts with tunes in the evening air.

She, a watcher, from a distance near,
Admires his grace, his music clear.
A crush, perhaps, in her heart it stirs,
For the gentle soul who music confers.

He, with docile eyes and humble smile,
Crafts tunes that travel miles and miles.
Their fleeting glances, like whispers fleet,
In silence, their hearts softly meet.

One evening, as...