The lights dimmed again. Quin stepped forward first, taking the mic with a practiced flourish.
“Welcome to the thirtieth annual Abbersett High Talent Show!” they said, voice warm and theatrical. “My name is Quin Sheehy, president of Student Council,” they continued, “and here’s the brains behind tonight’s show—our VP, Riya Khan!”
Riya stepped up beside them. The lights felt hotter now. She forced a smile.
“On behalf of the rest of Student Council, we want to thank you all for coming.”
Quin leaned toward the mic again, a twinkle in their eyes. “But tonight’s about more than just showcasing the incredible talent here at Abbersett. It’s about giving every performer a chance to show a piece of themselves.” Their grin widened.
“So, be loud, be proud, and most important—have fun. Because that’s what makes moments like this matter.”
Another wave of applause. Deafening. Wild. Quin basked in it like it was sunlight.
The lights dimmed. The music shifted. The show was beginning.
And Riya—
She scanned the audience one last time. Still no sign.
The DJ club, consisting of only three members, quickly set up their equipment, and beams of yellow and red light cut through the auditorium like they were in the middle of a dance club. Their set was short—only two songs—but they mashed them together with ease, filling the space with such infectious sound that several people in the audience popped out of their seats to dance in the aisles.
Next up was Flora, the Student Council secretary. Despite her unassuming stature, her voice was thick and velvety-rich, perfect for a cover of “Criminal” by Fiona Apple. She wore a sleek black dress and red lipstick that popped beneath the stage lights, using the microphone stand to her advantage and commanding the crowd like a seasoned performer.
It won her a standing ovation.
“Looks like the rest of Student Council needs to step up,” Quin whispered, grinning backstage. Riya nodded, sharing the same sense of pride.
The momentum didn’t slow after that. The two rockbands followed, pulling off incredible covers of songs, including “Come Together” by The Beatles and “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes. The heavy bass shook the walls, and for a moment, Riya forgot that they were at the Talent Show and not a concert.
Then came Jamal, a junior whose breakdancing routine made the entire auditorium practically explode; he defied gravity, twisting and flipping and moonwalking across the stage in a blur.
But Riya was getting nervous.Anonymous’s slot was coming up soon, with a performance, as they’d written on the sign-up sheet, of a single unnamed song. But there was still no sign of them. Quin, meanwhile, was watching the stage with an air of calm that Riya couldn’t comprehend.
“Let’s prepare to cut the show short,” she whispered, leaning in toward Quin.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Quin replied, not making eye contact.
Riya’s eyebrows raised. But there was something in Quin’s tone, a quiet assurance that gave her pause.
The Comedy Club’s performance ended with a final punch line that sent the crowd into a frenzy. But Riya wasn’t laughing. She was staring down at the set list, heart ticking faster with every second.
It was time for the final act. ForAnonymous.
She turned to Quin, voice low. “We need to prepare to cut the show short. If they’re a no-show—”
But Quin merely raised a hand. “Just watch.”
Riya opened her mouth to protest. Then closed it.
Suddenly, the lights went out, and the darkness silenced the auditorium.
A flurry of movement crossed the dark stage—feet shifting, equipment being rolled out—but it all blurred into background noise. Riya stood frozen, every nerve in her body waiting. Listening.
Then: a single blue spotlight. And there he was.
Kian.
Sitting at a piano. Like an estranged old friend he’d almost forgotten.
