What was even more distracting was how much I wished it wasn’t an almost-kiss at all, but a real one.
But it wasn’t Drew.
Rachel
Knock ’em dead! You’ve got this!
I smiled, sending back a quick thanks before silencing my phone. I couldn’t afford any distractions right now.
The door opened and the flutist emerged, looking relieved to be done. A woman with a clipboard appeared in the doorway.
“Harper Tinsley?” she called out.
“Here,” I said, standing from my seat.
“We’re ready for you.”
My heart hammered as I gathered my violin case and music folder. I’d been preparing for this moment for months. I was pretty sure I could perform both of these pieces in my sleep at this point. And it wasn’t the end of the world if I didn’t secure the fellowship. But it was the first thing I’d wanted so badly in a very long time, and it would be one more thing to prove that my passion wasn’t just a hobby.
Inside, the auditorium felt cavernous despite being only half the size of a standard concert venue. Three people sat at a table in the center of the room—Dr. Eleanor Werner, the fellowship director, Jonah Patel, the principal violinist for the Montana Philharmonic, and a third judge I didn’t recognize but who had the severe look of someone who had heard too many mediocre auditions today.
“Ms. Tinsley,” Dr. Werner said, glancing down at her notes. “You’re a music therapy major at Clark Fork University?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“An unusual background for this fellowship. Most of our applicants are performance majors.”
I swallowed the urge to defend my choice. “Music therapy combines performance with practical applications that help people heal. I believe that makes me uniquely qualified to connect with diverse audiences.”
Mr. Patel nodded slightly, looking mildly interested for the first time. “What will you be playing for us today?”
“I’ll begin with Bach’s Chaconne in D minor.”
They gave no reaction. Just expectant stares.
I unpacked my violin carefully, my fingers running overthe polished wood as I mentally prepared. This instrument had been my voice when words failed me, my constant companion through every disappointment and triumph. I’d saved for three years to afford it, working odd jobs around Meadowbrook when my parents refused to help with the purchase.
Taking a deep breath, I positioned the violin under my chin, feeling its familiar weight. I closed my eyes for a moment and centered myself.
Then I began to play.
The Bach Chaconne was demanding—a piece I’d chosen specifically to showcase both technical skill and emotional depth. My bow moved across the strings with smooth precision as I navigated the complex harmonies and intricate passages. The piece demanded everything, and I surrendered to the music, letting it flow through me rather than from me.
When the final note resonated through the hall, there was a moment of silence before Dr. Werner nodded.“And your second piece?”
Here was the moment of truth.
“For my second piece, I’ll be performing an original composition.”
The reaction was immediate. The third judge’s eyebrows shot up, and he exchanged a glance with Dr. Werner. Mr. Patel leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharpening with interest.
“An original composition?” Dr. Werner’s tone was carefully neutral. “That’s unconventional.”
My heart pounded against my ribs. “I believe it demonstrates both my technical abilities and my creative vision.”
“Very well.” She made a note on her clipboard. “Proceed.”
I took a moment to reset, adjusting my stance and taking a deep breath. This piece was different—more personal and raw. It had come to me in fragments during quiet moments, late nights and early mornings when the world felt both uncertain and full of possibility. The melody had evolved naturally, almost without my conscious direction, shaped by experiences I was still trying to understand. It contained questions without answers and emotions I was terrified to name.
