I hadn’t moved from my bed in three days. The room had become my cocoon—dark, heavy, and suffocating. It was easier to exist like this, curled up in the same clothes I’d been wearing, with my thoughts looping endlessly, gnawing at the edges of my mind. The ache in my chest refused to dull, an ache I wasn’t sure I deserved to let go of.
The soft knock at the door barely registered. I ignored it, as I had the knocks before, and buried my face deeper into my pillow.
But this time, the door opened anyway.
“Enough, Yesoh,” my mother’s voice cut through the stagnant air, sharp but not unkind. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor was a reminder of the world outside—the one I had tried so hard to block out.
I didn’t lift my head. I couldn’t.
“Get up,” she said, and I heard her set something down on the desk. “You’ve wasted enough time in here.”
“But Num—”
“Iwe, ima, nichani ai?”Get up what’s your problem?She spoke to me in Kunda, her language, which she only did when she was scolding us.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping she’d leave. Shedidn’t.
The bed dipped slightly as she sat down near my feet. Her presence was solid, unrelenting, and I could feel the weight of her gaze even though I refused to meet it.
“I don’t know what happened between you and Wynter,” she said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And heaven’s sake I don’t need to. But whatever it is, it’s not a reason to throw everything away.”
I flinched at her words, the shame crawling up my spine like ice.
“You haveThe Rite of Springto prepare for,” she continued. “An opportunity like this doesn’t come often, Yesoh. You can’t afford to neglect it.”
Her words hit like a slap, but I still didn’t move. My voice, when it came, was hoarse and broken. “I can’t.”
“You can,” she said simply, and her tone brooked no argument. “I’m your mother, I know exactly what you can and cannot do.”
Her hand found my arm, gripping it firmly but not unkindly. “Get dressed,” she said, standing abruptly. “You’re coming with me.”
I stayed frozen for a moment, unsure if I even had the energy to argue. But when I glanced up at her, the look in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t leaving without me.
The drive to the old ballet studio in Jakarta was silent. I stared out the window, my reflection ghostlike against the backdrop of the bustling streets. The city moved as if nothing had changed, as if the world hadn’t cracked beneath me days ago.
When we arrived, the sight of the studio took me by surprise. I hadn’t been here in years—not since I was a child, standing on trembling legs in front of mirrors that stretched to the ceiling. The building had aged, its paint faded, the sign above the door barely legible. But the moment we stepped inside, the familiarsmell of resin and wood floors flooded my senses, pulling me back to a time when everything had felt simpler.
My mother led me to the main studio without a word. The floor was worn, the mirrors still smudged with fingerprints from the dancers who practiced here now. She set her bag down by the wall and crossed her arms, her eyes scanning the room before landing on me.
“This is where you started,” she said. “And this is where you will get back up.”
I shook my head, the lump in my throat rising. “I can’t—”
“You can,” she interrupted, her voice cutting through my protest. “And you will.”
She stepped closer, her gaze steady. “If women navigated their lives based on how men felt, nothing would ever get done,” she said, her voice cold but steady. “You think you’re the first woman to feel heartbroken? To feel like the world has ended because of a man?”
I bit my lip, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
“No man,” she continued, “is worth sabotaging what you’ve worked for. Not Wynter. Notanyone.”
I looked down, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
“I’m not here to say ‘I told you so’,” she said, her voice softening for the first time. “I’m here because I know what you’re capable of. And because I won’t stand by and watch you waste it.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
“You haveThe Rite of Springahead of you,” she said, gesturing to the empty studio. “That’s what matters. That’s what will last.”
