Solo Act

Lalin hovered just out of sight, the heavy velvet curtain grazing her arm as the auditorium's wings formed a cocoon of shadow. She breathed in short gasps, her breath misting softly in the low light, her bare feet pressing into the cold floors, toes flexing uncontrollably against the smooth grain. Her costume was a midnight-blue bodysuit, its cloth cold against her sweaty skin, and she twitched the hem to fit her figure like a whispered promise. The little sting of resin, which usually grounded her but now seemed to tighten its hold on her chest, intensified the dry, dusty edge of the air. She was unable to observe the quiet hum of the audience rising and falling as it swirled beyond the curtain.

She resisted the need to turn and flee as her hands clenched and her nails dug crescents into her palms. She took the stage for the first time since that wild talent event with this solo. Kiet wasn't present, though. His absence was a deep ache that pulsed harder in the silence of backstage, a bruise she couldn't stop pushing. With her violin bag in hand and him halfway across the state pursuing his own goal, she had insisted he go, her voice unwavering despite her heart's turmoil. The stage beyond it was now a vast, unexplored sea, and the vacant area next to her felt like a chasm.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the stage manager's voice yelling over the intercom. "Thirty seconds." Lalin's rib cage was too small for her pounding heart, and her pulse jolted. The illumination spilled across the floor like molten glass as the curtain trembled higher, revealing the stage inch by ruthless inch. Her eyes were fixed on the center mark as she stepped out, her movements rigid, almost puppet-like. Her body reacted, tentatively at first, as though testing the ground under her, as the music unfolded—a languid, melancholy tangle of piano and strings, its notes floating upward like tendrils of mist.

Her first steps were shaky, her arms stiff, her equilibrium precarious like the first stride of a tightrope walker. Their stillness was a thick shroud that hung over her shoulders, and the audience was a faceless smudge. Without Kiet's violin piercing the song, the routine she had practiced until her muscles sung it as she slept felt empty and lost. Her breath caught as she wobbled mid-turn, landing with a clumsy thud after being taken off guard by a spin. Hot and sharp, panic flashed, and then—a spark. Through the din came a recollection of Kiet's quiet, confident voice: You've got this. Not now, not here, but in a dozen silent rehearsals beforehand.

Just enough of her chest relaxed. She no longer felt bound to him. His absence created a space to rise into rather than a void to sink in. Her feet drew bold arcs across the polished wood, her spine bending into the swell of the song as her movements grew softer. A leap landed with a whisper rather than a boom; a pirouette shook but held. Even though she was not perfect—her eyes were scorched by sweat, and her rhythm faltered once—she persisted, each step a silent protest against the burden of uncertainty. With one arm extended and her chest rising and falling like the aftermath of a storm, she slumped into her final stance as the last chord lingered.

A sudden scream of applause filled the gaps she hadn't noticed existed, and it swept over her. As the curtain came down, a raw, shuddering pride sank into her bones as she straightened and bowed with a grin that was strong but vulnerable. She had stood tall and by herself.

Kiet was stooped in a sterile waiting area miles away, his violin case a heavy burden on his legs. In stark contrast to the warm wood of his instrument, the room smelt like antiseptic and wax. The tranquility he attempted to convey was betrayed by the frantic beat of his fingers tapping against the leather. He had given the audition his all; the strings were singing under his direction, and his bow had cut the air with an accuracy that came from countless nights. As he concluded, the judges had looked on in disbelief and gave him only vague nods. The silence closed in now, heavy and oppressive.

He snapped his head up when his phone chimed. As Lalin's name appeared on the screen, he pulled it free, feeling his heart race. Her message was succinct and direct: destroyed it. I understand, but I wish you had been here. I'm proud of you. Relief mixed with a twinge of regret as a knot in his chest relaxed. Her comments conveyed a sorrow she didn't express, but he had chosen this path—his chance at a future outside of their small town. After hovering his thumbs, he typed, "You're amazing." I'll compensate you.

A woman with a clipboard emerged from the audition room as the door creaked open, her face unreadable. "Mr. Srisawat? They want you to return. Kiet gripped his phone more tightly, Lalin's message still visible in the shadows. Legs protesting the hours of inactivity, he stood up and slipped the gadget into his pocket. It was not yet the end of the war. But Lalin's strength remained in his memory, a constant flame he kept close to as he followed the woman down the hall.

The lobby of the concert hall hummed with activity, with the throng spilling out into the night and voices merging in a frantic symphony. With her coat draped over her arm, Lalin hovered close to the glass doors, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. Lalin was left to float alone in the sea of strangers after Mina, who had sent a brief "Well done!" message, got caught up backstage.

A figure emerged from the crowd, determined where others wandered. With his violin case thumping his hip, Kiet came out, his black eyes meeting hers with a sharpness that left her speechless. She froze, torn between a sudden, wild relief and shock.

With a few quick steps, he got closer, his cheeks flushed from the cold. "Last train," he murmured, his voice warm and gritty like water-smoothed dirt. "Made it for your bow."

With words tangled behind a rush of emotion, her throat closed. "You didn't have to—"

"Wanted to," he interrupted, his fingers threading together with a quiet assurance as his hand found hers. "You were incredible."

Her shaky but genuine smile came through. "You too, I bet."

A glimmer of a smile tugged at his mouth as he shrugged. Perhaps. But you had tonight."

The commotion of the lobby faded to a gentle blur as they stood there, hands clasped together. The audition went well, the performance was finished, but there were still a lot of unanswered questions. Nevertheless, during that little moment, Lalin sensed a firm foundation forming—a confidence that they would eventually return to this, no matter how far away they were.