I open my eyes.
And there, just outside the spotlight, exactly where I left him, is Taio.
It’s the perfect setup, because he can see my whole world, but they can’t see him. My secret weapon. My revival.
And he’s beaming like he’s proud.
For a moment, our eyes lock. It’s just us—two very broken people who somehow found each other in the middle of all this chaos.
I take a breath. I let it fill my lungs, my chest, my whole body.
And I pour everything I have into the final line. The words about someone being the reason, the only reason. About not being able to walk away. About needing them, wanting them, choosing them—not because you should, but because you can’t imagine any other choice.
The last note rings out across the arena. My fingers lift from the keys. Silence.
For a moment, nothing.
And then the crowd explodes in a way I’ve never heard before.
The audience is on their feet, screaming, crying, stamping so hard the stage shakes beneath me. The sound is a wall—physical, overwhelming, the kind of noise that breaks through to your bones and rewrites your DNA.
I sit at the piano, trembling, barely able to breathe, and I feel something I haven’t felt in years.
Alive. The high. The perfect hit of that drug of approval. Except this time I think it’s my own approval which feels like a giant step forward.
I did it. I went rogue. I sang for myself. And somehow, impossibly, they loved it. And I think to myself,Does it matter as long as I loved it?
The lights are doing something strange now—shifting, flickering, creating patterns I don’t recognize. The stage glows golden, and through my tears, I see faces in the crowd. Strangers, all of them, but in this moment they feel like family.
And then I see her.
Third row, center section. A woman with long blond hair and bright blue eyes, and a warm smile I’d know anywhere, because I see it every time I look in the mirror.
“Mom?” I whisper away from the mic.
She’s standing there, clapping, tears on her cheeks, looking at me the way she used to when I was five years old singing into a hairbrush in her bathroom.
I know she’s not real. I know it’s the lights, the adrenaline, the emotional overload playing tricks on my brain. She died eighteen years ago. She’s not here.
But for one perfect moment, I let myself believe in miracles.
“I love you, baby. Proud. I’m so proud of you.”I enjoy the hallucinogenic bliss of my mother’s praise. The real validation I’ve been craving.
The vision fades. The crowd keeps screaming. And I sit alone at the piano on the biggest stage of my life, tears streaming down my face, broken and whole, more myself than I’ve been in years.
This is what it feels like to belong to yourself. Beautifully unhinged. An endless stream of options—some of them right, some wrong, but all worth experiencing.
“Charlie, are you ready? We’re going to turn the lights off now.” Omar comes through my earpiece.
“Just one more moment,” I murmur, barely audible over the insatiable crowd. I breathe in the high one more time, the lights burning hot on my face, the salty tears teasing the corner of mylips, my chest rising and falling like there’s not enough air in the world.
I meet Taio’s eyes again and the world crystallizes into a single point of connection. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
He slams his fist against his chest twice before thrusting it skyward, his face fierce with pride and something deeper—something that makes my skin burn and steals my breath.
The song lyrics sear through my mind like lightning, no longer just words but prophecies carved into my bones.
I’m not sure how to feel about it.
