Applause

With its faint light creating long shadows on the chipped linoleum floor, the dressing room buzzed with a silence that pressed against Lalin's ears. As she stood in front of the mirror, a mist of hairspray clung to the air, blending with the acrid scent of perspiration. Her indigo tunic was affixed to her flesh, her cheeks flushed, and her eyeliner streaked like ink. With trembling fingers, she pulled at the fabric, removing it with each rustling a slight whisper against the stillness. The stage was now behind her, its shiny boards no longer posing a risk. Like a needle tugging silk, her steps woven through Kiet's violin strains as she crossed it. She could still feel the cheers in her head, a sweeping wave that rose with victory but left behind a hollow sorrow.

Pressing her fists to her face, she fell onto a stool, the metal cold on her thighs. She breathed and steadied herself, the smell of relief and powder filling her lungs. Kiet crept inside, his violin case a dark silhouette against his shoulder, while the door hinges moaned. With a soft thud, he lowered it to the floor and leaned against the vanity, his image joining hers in the mirror. His eyes had a soft gleam behind the weariness, and his hair was wet around the temples.

He murmured, "You were incredible out there," his voice a low anchor in her mental haze.

A small, tired smile tipped Lalin's lips. "We were amazing. Without you, I would have come apart."

A flush crept up his neck as he adjusted. "You managed to keep it together. I simply maintained the beat.

Firm but gentle, her eyes met his in the mirror. "No. What held me back was your music. It caught me each time I stumbled.

Something invisible hovered in the air, a spark of warmth passing across his face. He opened his mouth to respond, when a sharp, urgent knock cut through the silence. With her clipboard as a shield against her chest, the stage manager emerged from the doorway.

She continued, "Mr. Somchai wants you both," in a curt yet kind manner. "Green room."

A thread of uneasiness pulled taut in Lalin's stomach. The music director, Mr. Somchai, was a quiet man who rarely offered praise. She looked at Kiet, who nodded slightly, a mask of composure covering his face. The air grew colder as they left the stage's heat and followed the stage manager into the corridor, which had faded fliers plastered on its walls. At the end was the green room, a small room with shabby couches and the smell of stale coffee coming from a pot in the corner. Mr. Somchai was standing near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his figure rigid.

His eyes were fixated on the glass when he muttered, "Close the door," in a monotone tone.

The click echoed in the silence as Kiet pushed it shut. Mr. Somchai turned, his jaw a harsh line, his eyes penetrating beneath wire-rimmed glasses.

"Your performance was unconventional," he observed, pausing as though considering every word.

Lalin's nails dug into her palms as her chest tightened. "Unconventional how?"

After giving her a quick glance, he turned to Kiet. "Dancing and playing the violin together is uncommon. might have collapsed.

With a hint of defiance in his posture, Kiet's jaw flexed. "It didn't."

Mr. Somchai's lips were pulled by the shadow of a smile. "No. It was bold. It held despite rough edges. You've got something.

Lalin felt a wave of relief wash over her, and her breath eased. "Thank you, sir."

His face thawed a little as he bowed his head. "I'd want to give you a mentoring, Kit. Chiang Mai's summer program is demanding, but it's an opportunity to polish what you've already begun.

Kiet's eyes widened slightly as he froze. "I—I'm grateful. I'll think about it.

Mr. Somchai looked for a moment, then at Lalin. Additionally, Ms. Chaiyaporn, your nerves almost put out the fire in your movement. "Master them."

She nodded despite the heat creeping up her face. "I'll work on it."

He turned back to the glass and curtly dismissed them. The cool air brushed Lalin's skin like a sigh as they entered the hallway and the door eased shut behind them. Kiet's countenance was a mixture of astonishment and hesitancy as his fingers tapped against his leg.

He whispered, "A mentorship," nearly to the walls. "That's… huge."

Lalin's grin broadened as her pride took the place of her previous anxiety. "You deserve it. Kiet, you're heading somewhere.

His eyes were clouded by doubt as he met hers. Perhaps. There is a lot to take in.

With a little nudge that conveyed more assurance, she tapped his shoulder with her own. "Take your time. Just remember to take a breath.

He let out a little giggle, which relieved the tension. "Breathing. Right."

Voices echoed through the lobby as parents and students exchanged post-performance rumors over crumbling cookies and plastic cups. As the high subsided, Lalin and Kiet moved through the crowd, nodding through a haze of acclaim. They took cover next to the exit, where the night air, tinged with gasoline and rain, filtered through a broken door.

Mina lingered near the refreshments table, following their trajectory with her gaze. From the outskirts of the auditorium, she had watched Lalin dance, fear transformed into elegance, her chest constricted with a mixture of amazement and embarrassment. Her distance from him was sharply echoed by the applause, which had hurt. She moved closer now, knotting her bag strap with her fingers.

"Hey," she said, her voice barely audible above the din.

Lalin turned, her expression open but wary. "Hey."

Mina glanced toward Kiet and back again. "You were outstanding. You two."

With a level tone, Kiet tilted his head. "Thanks."

Words tangled in her throat and then poured out. "I apologize, Lalin. for everything. I made a mistake because I was petty and self-centered.

There was a glimmer of old trust in Lalin's eyes as they relaxed. "I understand. I'm attempting to let things go.

With gratitude and shame battling in her chest, Mina's body relaxed. "I'll make it right. Somehow.

Lalin grinned, a little but firm smile. "Just stay put. That's a beginning.

They stood with the weight of the night hanging over them, a tentative bridge emerging in the midst of the clamor. Success had a bitter flavor, tinged with the price of what had been torn apart, but it also contained a glimmer of optimism that things would get better, one cautious moment at a time.