Outside, Sydney turned to Jax, her breath visible in the chilly air. “What is all this?”
“It’s for you,” Jax said, his voice soft and nervous.
“Jax, have you been binge-watching the Hallmark Christmas films again?” She teared up, shaking her head in disbelief. “ I warned you that they’re corny!”
He led her to the small table, their audience watching with bated breath.
“I, um…” Jax glanced toward the window where Yesoh gave him an encouraging nod. “I just wanted to do something special for you, my very special girl, because…you’re my best friend. You’ve stood by me through everything, like that time I accidentally killed Bae’s pet hamster by taking him for a swim in the pool and had to cover it up, or the time I was failing math and you tutored me until I got a slightly less deplorable grade. The point is, Syd, I really, really like you. So…will you be my girlfriend?”
“You told me Mr. Whiskers, got deported back to Guyana?” Bae huffed, tugging at Wynter’s sleeve, and he chuckled silently.
For a moment, the only sound was the soft crackle of the firepit and the distant hum of music from the speakers. Then Sydney broke into a radiant smile, her eyes shimmering.
“What do you say?” Jax wondered
“Well duh! You’re like really cute or whatever!” she exclaimed, her voice thrilled with joy.
“Yes?” Jax repeated, as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Yes,” Sydney said again, laughing as she pulled him into a hug.
Inside, the group erupted into quiet cheers. Beck and Bae high-fived, Cahya smirked knowingly, and Jiwon clapped her hands together in delight.
“I told you she’d say yes,” Wynter said smugly.
“Yesoh told you she’d say yes,” Jiwon corrected, laughing.
“Yesoh’s always right,” Wyn added, grinning.
“Alright, everyone,” Yesoh said, stepping away from the window with a smile. “Let’s give them some privacy.”
That night, rain fell, blanketing the backyard in shimmering drops. Inside, the group gathered around the living room, talking and laughing as the fire crackled in the hearth.
Outside, Jax and Sydney sat together under the fairy lights, sharing cocoa and shy smiles. What they had now was something different, something unshakable, something that could not be severed.
PRESENT DAY
The music swirled all around me and all it’s chaotic glory every note, digging into my chest as I moved to the choreography. I’ve been practising the sequence for weeks tirelessly. I could hear Madame’s piercing voice, even though she was not here. “Show me, you deserve it, Yeo, prove to me that I have made the right decision. Just because your brother is about to graduate top of his class doesn’t ensure that you will too.”
Again. I pushed through the ache in my legs and the stiffness in my back. Sweat clung to my skin, dripping down my forehead. I licked my lip and started again. My feet hurt, and the swells of my ankles were bruised. Too slow. I stumbled out of the turn, frustration built within my chest. Right from the top I began again. Something I had learned in all my years as a ballerina was that you could not be a dancer who could not accept change. Fluidity was to be your greatest companion. And so, as a ballerina, you must learn to start again.
I stumbled out of turn, frustration burning in my chest, gasping for breath. I stopped in the middle of the studio, hands on my knees, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. It was immediately then that I saw the reflection of myself, my childhood self. I was immediately shrunken down to my youth, a version of me that had no idea of the kind of resilience andwillpower she held. I had a head full of tangled curls in a rundown ballet studio in Jakarta. All I had back then was my mother’s voice telling me to never give up. All I had were a rented pair of ballet flats…and a dream.
And now I was here attending one of the best art institutions in the world, and yet I still felt like I was failing myself.
“Why can’t I get this right?” I muttered to myself, the words heavy with my exhaustion. I watched as the clock ticked past midnight, and immediately realized that I’d been here for hours on end, replaying the same piece over and over. The right of spring wasn’t just any performance. It was one of the most challenging emotionally demanding works—and one of the most important opportunities of my career so far. It had to be perfect. I had to be perfect.
I straighten my back, my legs, trembling. Still, I pressed play on the music again, letting the frantic rhythms feel the room.
“Again,” I repeated to myself trying to shake off the exhaustion. The knock on the studio door startled me, breaking my focus. I turned around my gaze meeting that of Wynter and Sydney. Their expressions were equal parts worried and annoyed.
“What the—what are you guys doing here?” I wondered, my voice hoarse.
“Picking you up,” Wynter said firmly as he bent down to help pack up my stuff, folding my towel and placing it in my ballet bag, his brows drawn together, in a frown, his demeanor, sharp. “It’s late, Yesoh. You’ve been here for hours.”
“I needed the extra time,” I told them, setting down my water bottle and avoiding their gazes. “The performance is coming up and I’m not ready yet.”
“You have been saying that for weeks,” Sydney disapproved. “We can’t let you keep push yourself like this. You look exhausted, friend. So exhausted that I had to team up withyour freakishly tall, model-looking, figure skater boyfriend to conspire to get you out of here.”
