The cottage thrums with creative energy as Nyxx and I work on our fusion piece. Sheet music and scribbled notes cover every surface, a chaotic representation of our blended styles.
“No, no, no,” I argue, gesturing at the score. “The strings need to come in here, building tension before your flute solo.”
Nyxx runs a hand through his wild, blue-streaked hair, leaving it more disheveled than ever. “But if we do that, we lose the impact of the sudden shift from classical to rock.”
“That’s the point,” I insist, surprising myself with my vehemence. “It’s not about sudden shifts anymore. It’s about seamless integration.”
He pauses, considering. A slow smile unfurls, warm and impressed. “You know what? You’re absolutely right, princess. That’s brilliant.”
Pride swells in my chest. A month ago, I would have backed down, deferred to someone else’s judgment. Now, I’m confidently arguing my point, standing my ground, and it feels exhilarating.
As we work, I marvel at the give and take between us. We challenge each other, push boundaries, but always with respect and a shared goal. It’s unlike any creative process I’ve ever experienced.
“You know,” Nyxx says, pulling me from my thoughts, “we should do something special for the rats. They’ve been with me from the beginning. I’d like this to be a gift to them—open them up to something completely different that I know they’ll love.”
I nod, an idea forming. “What about offering half-price tickets to anyone with a blue streak in their hair?”
Nyxx’s eyes light up. “Ana, that’s perfect! It’s like a secret handshake for the fans.”
As we hammer out more details, I realize how much I’ve grown. I’m no longer the rigid, rule-bound Anastasia who arrived at this cottage. I’m Ana—still disciplined and detail-oriented, but also spontaneous, passionate, and unafraid to speak my mind.
Later, as we’re hashing out details, booking the cottage for a few more months, organizing a sabbatical from the orchestra, and finalizing the guest list, a thorny issue arises.
“What about your parents?” Nyxx asks gently. “Are you going to invite them?”
Hesitating, I pause as conflicting emotions war inside me. “I… I don’t know.” I rub my mouth with my palm, deep in thought. “They might not approve of all this. Ha! Who am I kidding? They definitely won’t approve.”
Before I can ponder further, my phone rings. It’s my mother. Perfect freaking timing, or is it cosmic irony?
Taking a deep breath, I answer on speakerphone. “Hello, Mother.”
“Anastasia,” her crisp voice fills the room. “I trust you’re packing to return home. This little… vacation of yours has gone on long enough.”
I meet Nyxx’s eyes, drawing strength from his supportive gaze. “Actually, I’m not coming home yet. I have some exciting news. Is Father there? I’d like you both to hear this.”
There’s a pause, then rustling as my father joins the call. “What’s this about, Anastasia?”
“I’ve been working on a new piece,” I begin, my voice steady despite the swirl of nerves in my gut. “It’s unlike anythingI’ve done before—a fusion of classical and rock elements. We’re debuting it here in Hamlin next month.”
“We?” My mother’s voice is sharp. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘rock elements’?”
This is it. The moment of truth.
“I’ve been collaborating with Nyxx Night,” I say, bracing for the reaction. “He’s a brilliant musician, frontman for the Pied Pipers, and we’re creating something truly special together.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Anastasia,” my father finally speaks, his tone disapproving. “This is highly irregular. Your career–”
“My career is fine,” I interrupt, surprising even myself. “In fact, it’s better than ever. I’m growing as an artist, pushing boundaries. And I want you both to be there for the debut performance.”
“Absolutely not,” my mother snaps. “We will not support this… this madness.”
Something inside me snaps. Years of pent-up frustration catch fire, rising like a crescendo.
“Listen carefully,” I say, my voice low and intense. “I love you both, but things need to change. I’m an adult, capable of making my own decisions. If you want to be part of my life, you need to respect that. No more controlling behavior, no more dismissingmy choices. And you need to give Nyxx a chance—he’s an incredible person, and I love him.”
The words hang in the air. My eyes fly wide, my breath stutters, and I slap my hand over my mouth. How is it I blurted this to my parents before I said it to him? Nyxx freezes for half a second, then a smile widens on his face, his thrilled expression telling me I didn’t just ruin our blossoming relationship.
