The semester’s big concert was six weeks away. Her mentor, the formidable Dr. Emerson, had assigned her to conduct the wind ensemble’s opening piece: Arabian Dances . "It's not just notes, Mira," he had said, tapping her score pad. "It's a story. If you can't feel the caravan moving, the ensemble won't either."

She stopped hunting for a free PDF. She bought the official score from the publisher. Then, she wrote all over it—not "desert wind," but "Teta's laugh." Not "mysterious," but "the moment before the bride enters."

Afterward, a young trumpet player approached her. "Maestra," he said, holding his part. "Why did you write 'stomp with joy' above measure 47? The original marking is 'heavy and aggressive.'"

"That's not what this music is," she whispered.