“What happened?” I ask.
Her smile is paper thin. “The Philharmonic is ‘disappointed in my recent behavior.’ They got a call from the International Philharmonic Exchange Committee.The board thinks the video made them look bad. They’re postponing my audition—indefinitely.”
I wait, knowing the aftershock’s still coming.
“They said I looked ‘unstable’ and ‘tarnished the orchestra’s reputation.’” Her laugh cracks. “Because I played in a public square wearing your T-shirt.”
The same T-shirt I still see in my dreams—soft black cotton slipping off one shoulder, smoky eyes, hair wild from the wind, her music catching fire under the summer sun. Unstable, my ass. She lookedalive.
Ana’s voice wavers. “That audition was going to be my big break. My one chance to go on the European tour. Now it’s gone. All of it—because I dared to look like a woman instead of a marble statue.”
She presses a hand over her mouth, as if she can’t trust the sounds coming out. “They’ll never see me the same again. I can already hear the whispers—the board, my colleagues, my parents…”
The phone buzzes again. She flinches. “Of course,” she mutters, and shows me the screen. “Mother.”
Her voice drops into careful politeness as she answers. “Hi, Mother.”
I can’t hear the other side, but her face tells the story—eyes glistening, lips trembling, breath quickening.
“Yes, I’ve heard about the video.”
Pause.
“No, I didn’tplanfor someone to record it.”
Another pause.
“I know what people are saying.”
Her free hand fists the hem of her shirt. “Of course I care about the Philharmonic’s reputation.” She stays silent for a long minute, just nodding her head. I can only imagine the shit her mother is spewing. “Iamsorry.” The last word breaks, barely a whisper.
She ends the call and just stares at the phone, shoulders shaking once before she folds in on herself, chin to chest, a silent sob she swallows before she gives is sound.
I crouch in front of her, careful not to crowd. “Breathe, Ana.”
She pulls a ragged breath through her nose and lets it out like it hurts.
“Good,” I murmur. “Now let’s get you out of here. You’ve had enough judgment for one day.”
Her gaze flickers to mine, raw and wet. “Where?”
“Creek,” I say, rising and offering my hand. “You, me, water, stars. No committees, no critics.”
A tremulous smile ghosts across her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“True.” I squeeze her hand gently. “But I’m also right. Come on.”
The moon is huge, hanging low and full in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the forest. Ana keeps pace beside me, sputtering now and then like an engine that can’t quite decide whether to stall or roar. The words come in bursts—snatches of disbelief, outrage, and half-formed jokes she doesn’t finish.
Every emotion has sharp edges tonight. By the time the sound of the creek reaches us, though, the fire’s burned down to embers. She just walks, quiet, spent, like she’s run out of anger and fuel in the same breath. I think she’s over her initial shock, though I imagine other emotions will bubble up, perhaps tomorrow.
I can barely take my eyes off her as we make our way down the winding path to the creek. Her hair, usually yanked into a tight bun, spills in loose, golden waves around her shoulders. She looks… free. So different from the woman who measured every breath to a metronome.
“You doin’ okay, princess?” I grin as she shoots me a mock glare.
“I thought I told you to call me Ana.” There’s no bite to her words—only warmth.
“Old habits die hard,” I shrug, guiding her over a root. “How about queen?”
