Someone in my building is learning to play the piano. Every morning, when I open the windows, I hear the tuneful sounds of (probably) a digital keyboard.

Sometimes I stand at the window and listen. I now know by heart most of the tunes they play, and I find myself listening with rapt attention, my head cocked to one side, almost willing them to get through the entire piece without a mistake.

Last week, I didn’t hear the music for a couple of days. I found myself wondering whether they were alright, and hoping that they hadn’t contracted the coronavirus.

Thankfully, a couple of days later, I heard them practising as usual.

My neighbour and I haven’t met. I don’t even know which floor they live on. I have no idea how old they are, what work they do or what they look like.

But we are connected through music. Little does my neighbour know the joy they’re bringing to me every morning when I hear them practise.

That’s the beauty of music. It brings joy wherever it goes. It has the power to touch your soul and move you. It warms the cockles of your heart.

Music, much like kindness, is a universal language.