“You’re invited to the performance,” I continue. “But only if you can abide by these new boundaries. You’ll let me make my own decisions and will treat both me and my… lover…” Oh my God, did I really say that out loud? “Treat us with respect. If you can’t do that, don’t come. The choice is yours.”
Without waiting for a response, I end the call. My hands are shaking, but I feel lighter than I have in years.
Nyxx pulls me into a tight embrace. His heartbeat drums against mine, steady and sure. Our glances connect, and we have a long, wordless conversation. By the time he murmurs, “I love you too, Ana,” against my hair, the words almost seem superfluous. “And I’m so damn proud of you.”
As we hold each other, I know that whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.
We’re done playing anyone else’s score. We’re composing our own masterpiece—one note, one heartbeat at a time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Anastasia
The weeks leading up to our debut performance fly by in a whirlwind of activity. Nyxx and I are in constant motion, fine-tuning our piece, coordinating with his band and my classical colleagues, and handling the myriad behind-the-scenes details that come with putting on a show.
His mom will come in from Cleveland, and we’ll meet in person for the first time. His dad may have been an asshole, but his mom is terrific and couldn’t be more welcoming.
Today, I’m finally meeting Nyxx’s band—The Pied Pipers. As we walk into the rehearsal space, I feel a flutter of nerves. Will they accept me? Will our styles mesh as seamlessly in person as they have in our virtual practice sessions?
“Relax, princess,” Nyxx whispers, squeezing my hand. “They’re gonna love you. They’ve all reached out to me privately and given you the thumbs up.”
The band members look up as we enter. There’s a moment of silence, and then Zoey, the heavily tattooed drummer with emerald green hair, breaks into a grin.
“Ana. So glad to finally meet in person.” She extends a hand. “Welcome to the rat pack.”
As we exchange greetings, my nerves dissolve. These people aren’t just Nyxx’s bandmates—they’re his family. And they welcome me with open arms, genuinely excited about our collaboration.
We dive into rehearsal, and any lingering doubts evaporate. The fusion of classical and rock elements works even better than I imagined. My flute weaves through their harder edges, softening them without dulling their impact. In turn, their driving rhythms add a new dimension to my classical training.
As we work through a challenging section, I suggest a change that doesn’t quite work. When Eli, the lanky bassist, points this out, my old instincts surface—defend, explain, justify. But then I remember that night with Nyxx, how gracefully he handled his misstep about my name.
Instead of getting defensive, I say simply, “You’re right, that didn’t work. My mistake. Let’s try your way.” The words flow naturally, and I notice with pride how far I’ve come—admittingthe error, apologizing sincerely, and moving forward. Just like Nyxx taught me, without even trying.
After we run through the piece again, Zoey exclaims, “Holy shit! This isn’t like anything we’ve done before. It’s… it’s fucking beautiful. It was great over Zoom, but in the same room, with instruments melding together. Pure magic.”
I beam, feeling a sense of belonging I’ve never experienced in the classical world. Here, there’s no judgment, no rigid expectations—just pure, unbridled creativity.
As we pack up, Nyxx pulls me aside. “So, any word from your parents? Are they coming?”
I shake my head. “No word yet. But I’m trying not to worry about it. Whatever happens, happens.” The words ring true, steady as a held note.
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Well, no matter what, you’ve got a family here now. We’ve got your back.”
The warmth of his words lingers, wrapping around me like music that refuses to fade.
Over the next few days, we tackle the remaining logistical hurdles. We double-check the venue Nyxx booked—an old theater in Hamlin that bridges the gap between classical elegance and rock grittiness. We design posters that blend my refined aesthetic with the Pied Pipers’ edgier style. I especially love the loopy gold script combined with stylized rat tails that adorn the edges.
The blue-streaked discount is a hit, with fans dyeing their hair in droves to score cheaper tickets. The social media sensation was unexpected, and it’s genuinely heartening to see how enthusiastically Nyxx’s fan base is embracing this new direction.
As the day of the performance draws near, I find myself filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. This piece represents so much more than just music—it’s a testament to personal growth, to breaking free from constraints, to finding love in unexpected places.
The night before the big day, Nyxx and I sit on the cottage’s porch, looking out at the star-filled sky.
“You know,” I say softly, “when I first came here, I never could have imagined this. I was so… stuck. Trapped in my own expectations and fears. So afraid of disappointing others that I didn’t know my own true north.”
Nyxx pulls me closer. “And look at you now. You’re blazing your own trail, Ana. It’s beautiful to watch.”
I turn to face him, my pulse thrumming with something fierce and steady. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For pushing me, for believing in me. For loving me.”
