Baba, lost in the melody, feels a presence behind him. His wife, drawn by the haunting tune, watches him play, her eyes lingering on his strong fingers dancing on the fretboard. She imagines those digits exploring her body, playing her like the instrument in his lap. As he turns, caught in her gaze, the music stops, replaced by the sound of their heavy breathing. She steps closer, her hand reaching out, not for the mandolin, but for something far more intimate.