ARC TWO

sonata
Origin: Italian
A composition for an instrumental soloist, often with a piano accompaniment, typically in several movements with one or more in sonata form.

DISCLAIMER: The personalities and opinions of these characters do not represent those of actual idols themselves, the Juilliard students, the New York Philharmonic, or any of its employees. The Juilliard School is not responsible for the accuracy of information.

The Seventy-Sixth Measure

Friday: July 16, 2021

I still remember the day I first held a bassoon. My wrists were stinging from its sheer size and my fingers barely reached the toneholes. This contraption was so large that it took the lung capacity of an elephant to move air through the tube and squeak out a note. With that kind of a stretch, it made my classmates wonder what the hell was wrong with me when I transferred from clarinet over to bassoon.

The bassoon is an extremely difficult instrument to learn. Memorizing the s and scanning the chart is comparable to cracking a complicated code. Crafting a double reed, which is responsible for the manipulation of sound in a bassoon, requires time commitment proportionate to that of an artisan. The pitch is affected by the way in which the reed is constructed, therefore its shape has a significant effect on the sound of the instrument. It's extremely delicate and irritable, and any factors such as the change in temperature or a small scratch can ruin the sound.

Just like my cousin said, bassoonists settle for a lifetime of backseat accompaniment. Bassoonists are highly underappreciated because of their role as the supporting bass in an ensemble. Most people would rather marvel at the magnificance of a violin or the delicateness of a flute. Despite all the hard work and sacrifices that I have made to perfect my craft, I'll never be fully appreciated or acknowledged by my family nor The Six.

So why did I chose an instrument as physically, mentally, and emotionally taxing as a bassoon?

Learning the bassoon seems like a labor in itself, but the moment you choke up results, it's an ultimately satisfying feeling. Overcoming your problems and figuring things out gives you a sense of gratification. What's even more gratifying is discovering the beauty that the instrument holds within. 

Like every instrument, the bassoon upholds its own identity. In orchestral pieces, bassoons are often used to portray a wide range of expressions including apprehension, lamentation, distress, hardship, agony, and also more positive states like joy, playfulness, peace, gentleness, and lastly, courage. The bassoon is normally a low, soft-sounding instrument and is hard to distinguish in an large orchestral setting. But.when bassoons are given their chance to let its voice be heard, they sound beautiful and keep listeners on the verge of tears. Think of this as, well, an instrument's character development, yeah? 

We're defined by our struggles. I used to think that my hearing loss and my relationships would render me silenced, but actually, it did the opposite. Through my struggles, I learned to stand up for myself and create my own voice, even though I can't always hear my own voice.

Silent Sonata is about giving everyone their own voice, even if they feel that they've been silenced.

With this performance, I intend to share what I've learned over the past few months. Let's begin.

Even though I can't hear the notes like I used to, I can still feel the sounds from the soles of my feet to my brain. I believe that the first movement is supposed to be quiet, perhaps even somber. There are no complicated phrases or outrageous dynamics but this particular movement speaks of despondency. As I said, it's an anthem for those who are tackling hopelessness. 

The bassoon is supposed to be trembling, overlayed by the vibrating whimpers of a vibraphone.

I used to think that I couldn't possibly do anything without my hearing. If I couldn't hear my own music, then I would've preferred to be dead. Chaeyoung thought the same way too. If she believed that she couldn't escape the bullying that others ed upon her for her disability, she would've preferred to be dead as well. It felt as though others wanted to silence us. Like Bona expressed back at the Queens Correctional Facility, why are we punishing people who we perceive as different and helpless, instead of seeking to understand and uplift them?

The first movement of Silent Sonata had been practiced religiously. My head jerked towards the percussionist and she gave the cue to delve into pianissimo. Chaeyoung and I had run through this movement many times in preparation for tonight, taking heed to every note and shaping them with the directions given to us. At that time, I had not become accustomed to my hearing loss and I feared that my musical intuition would fail me. 

I can see them — my parents, my relatives, the Six. It doesn't take their physical presence for my eyes to recognize them. Their eyes peer at the back of my head, suffocating me like pythons. Ever since the plan of shaping me into the world's most awarded musical prodigy was set into stone, I wasn't allowed to breathe. Our culture emphasizes collectivism and if I defied the orders and beliefs set by my elders, I would be shunned. If they found out about the posibility of me having a hearing disability, I'd become an outcast. I wasn't allowed to be different. I couldn't develop my own musical flair with each piece; I had to obey the laws and the lessons established by their composers.

I could see visions of my parents tucking me in bed and playing a quiet duet together in the living room. I must have been five years-old, maybe six. Anyways, I don't remember. All I know is that in these times, they would actually be watching over me instead of retreating to drinking with their colleagues every night after New York Philharmonic rehearsals. I had to rely on them to take care of me because I couldn't take care of myself.

Their song resurfaced in my head — Strauss's Duet Concertino for Clarinet and Bassoon. Mom and dad always played in perfect tandem, like an elegant waltz between the princess and the bear in Strauss's composition. At that point, I was dead-set in becoming the musician that my parents always wanted me to be. I was in love with their music and I figured that in order to play like them, I would have to give into their will. And indeed, my parents delivered. They installed a practice room in our penthouse, my dad gave me a free Heckel and free reeds, and they helped me make connections with the most distinguished musicians who would end up to be my bassoon instructors, The Six, and Seohyun, the composer of Silent Sonata.

Oh, how naïve I was back then.

It's difficult for me to acknowledge that there was once a time where my parents acted like real parents especially since over time, as they drank more and I became even better at playing the bassoon, they've grown to become more physically and emotionally abusive towards me.

Suddenly, I feel demure. My scampering eyes briskly returned to the notes on the page and interpreted them as a different language: a bunch of black specks that were foreign to me. I had to close my eyes and calm down for a second, and then I remembered something.

I don't need to follow sheet music or an instruction manual, just like I don't always need to obey the commands of others. 

The vibrations emanating from the percussionist's playing attracted my senses again. Chaeyoung is there to guide me when I feel lost.

Her short solo is about to begin. Chaeyoung's body swayed side to side, forward and back, and then in circulation. Her bare feet shifts from left to right, never leaving the floor, keeping itself rooted so that she could "hear" her own music. She's nimble yet graceful, even in Silent Sonata's most melancholic movement. Even though my horrid past memories kept me in shock, Chaeyoung reminded me that we need to embrace the present. Like Chaeyoung, I need to keep myself rooted so that I don't get caught up in my nightmares and lose my way through the music.

In the second movement, there's a feeling of peace. I let Chaeyoung set the tempo, nudging through playful phrases, then letting the bassoon reclaim its stage in gentle phrases. I closed my eyes and immersed myself in this silence. 

The word "silence" holds a negative connotation. You, or at least I, myself, think about others silencing us. Silence has made up my life even before I lost my hearing. The bassoon is not a domineering instrument and neither was my voice. From my childhood until today, I had let myself become submissive to my family and The Six, following their shadows instead of my own. I couldn't retaliate against them, not was I allowed to express my own opinions and feelings on matters, even matters of my own. I just did whatever I could to please them. It didn't matter if my health was at stake.

And then came the day when I found out about my acoustic neuroma. I thought that it would be the end of my music career and I felt like dying.  But then I made new friends, most of whom are a part of the audience, listening (or feeling) the music closely. 

My eyes drifted towards the dark-haired girl in the red dress, enraptured from the sidelines. Sana isn't technically a new friend since we've been together throughout elementary and middle school, but I'm glad that we reunited. She's grown since the day she started learning the horn and I'm sure that she's going to portray her growth in her own performance.

At a certain point, my eyes had to return to the stage. Chaeyoung tried to make eye contact with me, but her vision mainly resides on the metallic bars of the glockenspiel she had just switched to. Her notes lingered in my body, blending into chords that sung an uplifting song. As Chaeyoung played, I let the air knotted in my lungs unravel, my bassoon give tranquil nuances to the inspiriting glockenspiel. 

Chaeyoung — the small percussionist in the little white dress. I wish that I got to know her when I was given the chance, as I didn't get to establish a meaningful relationship with her until this year. She didn't only help me with my sign language skills and teach me how to "listen" to music through my other body parts. No, Chaeyoung taught me to revel in the near-silence that my acoustic neuroma brought upon me. Chaeyoung taught me how to find peace in misfortunes, light in times where I perceived darkness. Chaeyoung taught me how to truly listen.

Proof of our harmonious exchange exhibited itself in our performance. Pure emotion bled from our very selves and eventually bursted out shamelessly from our respective instruments. I looked fondly at Chaeyoung while expanding my lungs and using that air to soar up to a high D, extending towards the celestial stage lights in the darkness of the concert hall. 

At last, the third movement. Silence transitioned from darkness and began to take the form of light. The moment Chaeyoung and I started to hit the notes, a deep connection developed between our polar instruments — her’s bright and whimsical, mine warm and placid. Seohyun’s unconventional piece just comes to show that even with the mallet percussion overlaying the soloist, the bassoon can still be distinct and sound beautiful. Even though the composer lays out directions in a piece, I don’t have to follow them.

Even though I grew up in an authoritarian household, I can break free and develop my own style of playing. Even though the world tells me that I can’t pursue music because of my hearing loss, I don’t have to listen to them. Even though I can't hear anything, I can still play the bassoon. Growing up in silence taught me how to break it while at the same time, embrace it.

Silence encompasses me now but I’m still standing on this stage, and so is Chaeyoung. 

We broke away from the scores on our music stands and focused on making raw, intuitive, unrestrained music. The adagietto espressivo was executed as if we were exposed, yet unbothered despite the attentive critics in the audience. The liberating melodies that each of us paint expanded into a crescendo so impassioned and so beautiful that words fail to form in the mouths of critics. Music is something that can transcend the boundaries of language. 

Now Chaeyoung and I are at the same tempo. This time I set it, yet she still manages to keep up with my pace.

Now I can feel the music within me. I don't even have to rely on my ears.

Now Silent Sonata no longer belongs to the composer; it belongs to us.

Now we aren't playing for the critics, nor the thousands of people laying their eyes on us, but for ourselves and the people we care about.

Now the crowd is applauding, and I feel more alive than I've ever been. I can feel myself smiling for once.

I'm breathing heavily and Chaeyoung's forehead is drenched with sweat. Her intense eyes meet mine, unwavering and untiring. No words have to be exchanged between the two of us because we've already spoken through our smiles, our song, and most importantly, our lives. I can't thank Chaeyoung enough for embarking on this emotional journey with me to find ourselves in the silence that surrounds us. 

The Seventy-Seventh Measure

"I told you that you were going to do great!" Sana signed with a warm smile as Chaeyoung and I descended backstage. With her soft brown eyes glittering with tears, I could feel her bony hands run down my back as my dress allowed. She's slightly shaking.

"You ready?" I asked her, still clutching to my bassoon.

Sana nodded and released me from her embrace, still quivering. That girl. I always believed that there were people in the world who don't get stage fright. Most of the time, not a hint of that fear would hit Sana in the head. But then I remembered that not too long ago, she broke down after performing for the president on live television. I'm praying that those bad memories don't resurface in her head when she performs tonight.

"What are you nervous for? You're so talented." I said dumbfoundedly.

Sana was signing at a speed that I can't handle. She really is that nervous. 

I laid my bassoon on top of two chairs and used my fingers to raise the corners of Sana's lips, "Smile. You're going to do great!"

"HEY! That's my line!" she exclaimed, swatting my wrists.

A hilarious giggle escaped my lips as Sana grimaced, nearly dropping her horn whilst extracting it from her case. I never thought that I would unleash my giddy side so soon, specifically after walking offstage with sore lungs and an aching back after playing the bassoon for so long. I have to admit, similarly to The Black Swan, I feel strangely relaxed after performing Silent Sonata. Must be the effect of the Royal Albert Hall.

I had to put on my hearing aids again because Sana couldn't sign and hold her horn at the same time.

"Are you sure that you're Mina Myoui?" Sana questioned with a pale face.

I wanted to mess with her, "I am the real Mina. What are you talking about?"

We both laughed.

Then as the BBC Symphony Orchestra began setting up onstage, she zipped over to Chaeyoung, who was heading towards the storage room to stow away the percussion equipment. The percussionist was so shocked by Sana's bear hug that her mallets fell to her toes. The hornist always wraps herself around the Chaeyoung affectionately, burying the small girl in her chest, her nose nuzzling the top of her head.

She seems calm now. I hope that she doesn't crack and continues to stay true to herself during her performance.

Once intermission was finished, a staff member ushered for Sana to stand by the sidelines. She put on her brave face and tucked her horn under her arm while promenading to the center stage, greeted by the audience, the accompanying BBC Symphony Orchestra, and of course, our roaring friends. Unlike me, Sana walked off like an elegant acrobat. A whiff of wind swept through the silk-like material of her haltered red dress as she shook hands with Sakari Oramo, the principal conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Composer Whitacre is standing behind me, nodding at Sana.

Then the audience returned to their seats, the orchestra tuned, and the lights dimmed. The only light that was apparent was the spotlight illuminating the featured soloist, whose horn glistened like a knight's sword. The silence from mine and Chaeyoung's performance still screams out loud, but then the vibrations from the ensemble tickled my feet. Sana's performance had begun.

Whitacre's The Phoenix.

There's no holding back from the start. The orchestra immediately dives into the piece with stupor and excitement. Her horn's aggressive yet playful voice sings into the depths of the Royal Albert Hall, all the way up to the ceiling like a flying phoenix. Sana's face lit up with every forte marking that was thrown at her. She loves this vibrancy, she loves raising her voice, and she loves being a bird in flight.  

I'm transported back to the time when Sana and I were children, carefree and naïve. She rebuilt a fraction of my missing childhood. After school, I'd lie to my parents about practicing my bassoon in the band room just to hang out with Sana for the day. Oh, how shy and apprehensive I was back then. Sana would always be the leader, introducing me to things like Studio Ghibli films and Pokémon and whatever the kids were into those days. She zipped from room to room like a squirrel, racking up gaming consoles, DVDs, and toys for the two of us to play with until my curfew hit.

Just like the first movement of The Phoenix, Sana herself is fast-paced and fun. Sure, she was spontaneously emotional at times (we all are) and definitely clumsy, I admittedly loved every second of her contagious laughter and dizzying yet fresh, bold excitement. At the end of our play dates, my frown would turn upside down.

The concerto turns meek and depressing, and the phoenix dies in a show of flames and combustion. Sana moved away to San Francisco because of her father's work and I had no friends to hang out with after school (Until I reunited with The Six, but I'd rather not talk about them). I know that at one point during her life there, her father was shipped away to Syria and died there. I wasn't there to comfort her during her grieving and that upsets me.

We both needed each other in those days. Her dad died and she experienced trials with her youth orchestra. I experienced trials with The Six and my family. I think the reason why Sana's thoughts about her father resurfaced today was because I told her that I didn't want to live, and Sana couldn't bear to lose anymore people in her life. There's probably another piece of information that I'm missing here. Maybe it relates to this concerto.

Sana's nostalgic, yet pensive melody resounded severely throughout the ebony of London's skies. I haven't heard Sana play like this before. It's somber yet calming, heck reassuring. Sana is letting me know that even though we all have our own struggles, we're not alone. 

Sure the Phoenix can't recover its past life but then it obtains a new life after rising from the ashes, making it the epitome of rebirth. She started from the bottom and fought to attain the positions she holds now — a Juilliard student, principal player of two ensembles, and a concerto soloist standing on the stage of the esteemed Royal Albert Hall during the BBC Proms.

And Sana did this with her own music.

I don't think I would've fallen back in love with music, stood up for myself and my friends, and kept on living if it wasn't for Sana's loyalty, warm heart, and her soulful playing. Sana refused to give into the whims of the composer; she made use of her musicality and manipulated a piece as if it she was its composer as opposed to its player. Just like her playing style and the courageous, heroic French horn in her hands, Sana showed me how to become a leader instead of a bystander.

Soulful low notes ascended into the air, catching fire until it formed one intoxicating flame. I could feel Sana's spirits soaring as the piece lifted to its crescendo, keys pressed by her talented fingers, emphatic high notes supported by her strong breath and articulated by her skilled tongue. In between breaths, I could see her bright smile, the corners of her lips lifting up like a phoenix extending its wings. Sana will not let anything or anyone stop her from rising to the top of the world. 

And rise she shall.

The irrepressible piece ended with an explosion of sound. I could feel them beneath my feet and running up my veins: a stomping timpani and a flurry of wings. Energetic strings kneaded skillfully together to support the solo horn's harmonic successions and fleeting runs. Sana is showcasing her virtuosic talents while enveloping the souls of spectators. It's normal for Sana to make improvisations, especially when she's on fire like this. My heart is pounding as her emotions played out. She's really letting herself go.

Then came her horn's shrill yet resonant note, representing the phoenix's everlasting and impassioned flame. Sana exhaled loudly as she held out the note a measure too long, the only leftover sound deriving from her breathing alone. Her final note still reverberated into the silence.

Like fireworks, the audience leaped up from their seats and erupted into applause. Sana's hands were still shaking, to the point where I felt that she was going to drop her horn. Conductor Sakari Oramo tenderly shook Sana's hand, then opened his arms to the rest of the BBC Symphony Orchestra members for their commemorative bow. Her performance may have been finished but I'm still in a shocked state. I can barely breathe.

Sana settled her horn in her case and reached out to Chaeyoung first, pulling the smaller girl into her arms and squeezing her tight, perhaps to the point where Chaeyoung could feel Sana's heart. They exchanged some sign language that I couldn't catch, but I'm assuming it's complimentary.

Just as I was about to disassemble my bassoon, Sana cut me off by yanking my arm and swamping me into her body with her arms. She's still shivering but it's the relieving kind of shivering — the one that sprouts up after giving a tremendous performance. Words need not tell how proud I am of Sana today. She found her own voice again after losing it. Better yet, she got to share it with the world.

The Seventy-Eighth Measure

"You three performed beautifully out there", Sunny flashed a spray of hydrangeas and roses for me backstage, Yuri following suit with two of the same bouquets for Sana and Chaeyoung, their youth orchestra allies. Then, Sunny rushed in one of her Berlin Philharmonic colleagues to take a group photo, bouquet in one hand and instrument in the other. Chaeyoung flinched and dropped her mallets at the camera's flashing light.

While Sunny bickered with her colleague about her camera's functions, Yuri scooped us into a collective hug of nostalgic sentimentality.

"I can't believe how much you all have grown over the past few years", she smiled over the three of us, almost in the same manner of a proud parent, "Sana and Chaeyoung with the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra, and then Mina with the Juilliard Orchestra. My babies have performed on the grandest stage in classical music history and I can't get over it!"

"We're not babies anymore!" Sana laughed at her senior's mushy remark.

"You're my babies", Yuri restated intently before backpedaling into wistfulness again, "And you were Yoona's baby as well."

"Yoona was watching you from above", Sunny quirked after picking up Chaeyoung's mallets for her, "She sent me a message from heaven saying that you used her horn well and that she doesn't regret giving it away to you in the slightest."

The hornist was about to cry, but then another figure abruptly embraced her from behind.

"M-Mom?" she squeaked out. 

Sana's mom retracted her arms, gave a brief hug to Sunny and Yuri, and then signed to her daughter, "I'm so proud of you."

I couldn't understand the rest of their hand gestures, especially at the speed they were signing in, but I assumed that she was praising Sana's performance given her ecstatic facial expressions. Sana's mom did the same thing with Chaeyoung thereafter.

Then she approached me, spinning me around like a doll until I felt delirious. She was trying to talk to me but I couldn't register her words because there was too much noise in the background, such as Sunny, Yuri, and Sana's yip-yapping. Chaeyoung is still composed as ever. 

Sana's mom resorted to using sign language but her vocabulary was so vast that I also couldn't catch most of the words that she was signing. So I gave her my phone number in case she wanted to text me as an alternative form of communication. 

[Ms. Minatozaki] I noticed you playing barefoot on stage today.

[Mina Myoui] It's so I can feel the vibrations.

[Ms. Minatozaki] I wonder where you got that idea from.

She released a little laugh before focusing on her phone.

[Mina Myoui] You mentioned it at your seminar.

[Ms. Minatozaki] I know. I do recall seeing your face there, and I'm happy to see that you applied some of my methods to your performance.

[Mina Myoui] It wasn't easy at first. It took a lot of practice and I'm still learning.

[Ms. Minatozaki] Of course you're still learning! You're still a young kid, well, young adult to be exact. Oh, how I envy your talent and your youth. You're so young and yet you gave out one of the best performances I've seen during The Proms. I couldn't really hear your playing, of course, but I monitored your facial expressions and movements onstage. It seemed like you were having the time of your life.

My facial expressions? . I'm never aware of what I look like when I perform onstage. Never once have I rewatched any of my past live performances, out of fear that I'll lose confidence in viewing how exaggerated I'd look while playing. I did a lot of self-reflection during Silent Sonata so there's no doubt that my emotions would come through in my face.

Sometimes, I still wonder if I'm hitting the right notes, like how I wonder if I'm doing the right things in life. That doesn't matter right now. I accomplished performing at the prestigious BBC Proms with very little hearing and I'm proud of myself. I don't think I've ever gained this much satisfaction and self-esteem from my own playing before today.

[Ms. Minatozaki] I'd like to talk to you more, but we need to get to this restaurant that your private instructor placed reservations for.

[Mina Myoui] Where are we eating?

[Ms. Minatozaki] You'll see. You, me, and your friends are being treated there.

The restaurant was barely a block away from the Royal Albert Hall. In fact, the restaurant that Dr. Cseszneky made reservations for is encased within the Royal Albert Hall. To be exact, it was on the same floor as the standing gallery.

Most people sat inside the restaurant and listened to the live music that emanted from Minyoung's piano and Eunha's violin. Beethoven's Violin Sonata No. 9, also known as the Kreutzer Sonata, has technical demands for both the pianist and the violinist, but the final movement had a joyous, celebratory ring to it. The diners sat back with their aged wine and reveled in the young musicians' harmonies.  

It had just occurred to me that Dr. Cseszneky and Sana's mom are close friends. In fact, Sana's father was an alumni at Juilliard and he graduated with his bachelor's degree on the same year of my private teacher. Both people were conversing about our performances for the night, all while Sana was translating their exchange back and forth, from spoken English to ASL and vice versa. Sana's mother was considering moving back to New York City and Dr. Cseszneky discussed the possibility of her getting a job as a voice instructor for the Evening Division adults with hearing loss.

The nine of us are playing "Truth or Dare" again, this time in a place not so rundown as Dahyun and Tzuyu's apartment. Nayeon was forced to do the splits in front of five patrons that wandered about in the lobby, but little did Jeongyeon know that Nayeon can't do them at all so she ended up collapsing in the faces of wealthy, elderly English women, one of which was close to calling an ambulance.

Momo had to say the first word that came to her head. She screamed out "Daddy!" while strolling through the gallery, not knowing that my private teacher was also roaming around that said gallery with his wife and kids.

I don't remember the rest of the truths nor the dares. Everyone was talking and yelling all at once, to the point where hearing aids couldn't salvage me. The Royal Albert Hall's dome is boundless but their voices still trickle in my ears, just like how Chaeyoung's vibraphone trickled through my feet during the Silent Sonata performance. I was about to turn off my hearing aids until Jihyo silenced the group.

"Seohyun and Yuri want to talk to Mina?" Jihyo asked.

"Y-Yes", Sunny panted, having to dart all the way from the gallery standing area to the restaurant.

Soon I was dismissed from continuing their "Truth and Dare" game, which I found to be a huge relief for me. I needed a quieter space after a minute of ruckus.

The gallery standing area proved to be a much calmer site with Prommers chatting about tonight's performance. Some personally went up to me with compliments and offers, an overload of emotions playing on their faces. This one Austrian woman, whose husband was deaf and died from pneumonia three days before their seventy-third anniversary, gave me a hug and told me that she felt peace within herself after my performance.

I didn't want to release my arms from her.

Even after I gave the old woman my regards, her hydrangea fragrance clung to my ivory dress. My mom's perfume also smells like hydrangeas.

Inside one of the Grand Tier boxes, Yuri and Seohyun clinked their wine glasses with a suit jacket-clad man with a ring of white hair. I couldn't recognize him with his back facing towards me, but my hearing aids caught his deep voice thick with flattery.

"Mina's here!" Yuri called out. Seohyun was also standing by her side, seemingly healthy. The cast on her arm from her bike injury had disappeared.

"We were just talking about you, Mina", the pianist-slash-composer perked up before motioning the man next to her, "You know Adam Richards, right? The former principal bassoonist of the London Symphony Orchestra?"

No wonder why I recognized that voice. I had the honor of taking a masterclass with him in high school, though he probably doesn't remember me. Despite only having picked up the bassoon at the age of eighteen, Adam Richards is a fine performer. Today, He's eighty-eight years-old with a teaching career at the Royal College of Music and an extensive discography under Deutsche Grammophon and Hyperion Records. However, his most noteworthy accomplishment was his service with the London Symphony Orchestra as their principal bassoonist for fifty-nine years. 

"Splendid performance tonight, darling", he applauded as he approached me with my own glass of wine, "Your playing has matured greatly since I last worked with you in... what was it? LaGuardia?"

"Yup", I nodded, pinching the stem of my wine glass, "LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts."

"I see that you're wearing hearing aids right now", he pinpointed, "Will you be wearing them all the time?"

"No. I can't handle environments that are too loud, like people are talking all at once or if there's noise pollution in the subways", I laughed sheepishly, taking a sip of the wine. There's a tingling sensation at the tip of my tongue, sort of like pop rocks.

"What about in a large orchestra setting?"

"I'm not sure. I've only played in an orchestra once after my last surgery and I'm still not settled with the trombone section sitting behind me. I'm still anxious about whether an orchestral job is the right career choice for me after graduation."

"But you passed the first round of London Symphony Orchestra audition for the principal bassoon position, didn't you?" Yuri inquired.

What the heck is she talking about?

I cocked my head, "Did I?"

The three of them stared at me strikingly, as if someone's words flew over my head. Without a doubt, there must've been something that I missed. I don't remember receiving a word about who passed or not. If anything, remembrance of that dreaded New York Philharmonic audition that followed seemed to block any consciousness about my London Symphony Orchestra audition.

"Maestro sent you an email two weeks ago", Adam Richards told me, "When was the last time you checked your inbox?"

Ah, that's it. I haven't read any of my emails since I began my practice regiment for tonight's performance.

I opened the Gmail application on my phone and swiped off random junk mail until I saw the London Symphony Orchestra's name in bolded text. 

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Dear Mina,

I am pleased to inform you that among the hundreds of applicants, the London Symphony Orchestra has considered you for the second round of auditions for the position of principal bassoonist, succeeding Adam Richards. Attached below are the repertoire that we will be testing you on. It is imperative that you begin practicing as soon as you've reviewed the audition requirements.

We can't wait to see you on November 9, 2021.

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They weren't wrong.

"Now do you believe us?" Yuri asked. I was too stunned to respond.

"See, Mina?' Adam Richards began, "Your deteriorating hearing didn't stop you, and the committee couldn't even tell that you were hard of hearing. We watched over one hundred auditions and you were among the nine people selected to advance to the second round."

Only nine bassoonists were considered for the second round? That's even less admittance compared to the New York Philharmonic. I'm absolutely sure that the bassoonists that I will be competing against are all going to be at the top of their game too. They're the cream of the crop.

"Many of the London Symphony Orchestra members expressed interest in you, Mina", Seohyun imparted, sharing a jubilant smile as she toasted her glass with mine, "And you bet that the members were here watching your's and Chaeyoung's performance tonight. I'm actually glad that I let Chaeyoung play my original accompaniment part."

"Percussion and bassoon is such an interesting combination. It adds such a young, ecstatic touch to the composition", Adam Richards remarked, "Mina, tell your percussionist friend that she has my regards too." 

"You should give yourself credit", I insisted to Seohyun, "You composed Silent Sonata."

She released a light laugh, "Oh, Mina. The players are what bring the piece to life. And you did, splendidly." 

"Oh! Well..." I faltered.

"Mina, it's true!" Yuri smiled as big as her heart, "You really did give a great performance, and you do deserve to be considered as our next principal bassoonist. I'm actually part of the committee and I voted for you to advance to the second round."

"I actually do hope that the orchestra selects you as my replacement", Adam Richards gives an idyllic nod, raising his glass, "Now go on and spend the rest of the night with your friends. Tell them about the good news!"

After the hall was barren, the Crack Squad sneaked out food from the restaurant to dine atop of the Royal Albert Hall's grand stage, sort of in a picnic style. The fiberglass saucers drooping from above don't scare me anymore, and neither do the velvet-embedded seats that encircle the hall. I felt much more relaxed knowing that I've stood on this stage before as. I'm seeing how capable I am of passing auditions and sharing my music with thousands of spectators, even though I lost most of my hearing and will never regain it. 

"So what you and Seohyun and Yuri talk about?" Jeongyeon asked, "The Proms, Juilliard, London—"

"Yeah! What did they tell you?" Dahyun disrupted.

"Did they give you any advice about life after graduation?" Nayeon in. 

All of the sudden, many voices were coming from different directions. I cupped my ears with my hands, praying that they would stop. Even Chaeyoung seemed distressed despite not having a single comprehension of what they're saying.

"You guys!" Sana voiced over the group, "Mina can't process your questions if you're all talking at once."

Thank you, Sana.

"We're sorry, Mina", Jihyo said apologetically, "The first question was, what did you talk about with Seohyun and Yuri?"

I situated myself in the circle between Sana and Chaeyoung, criss-crossing my legs, "Oh, nothing much! They just wanted to inform me that I passed the second round of London Symphony Orchestra auditions for the principal bassoon position."

"Nothing much? Are you kidding me?" Dahyun raised her eyebrows, "You're literally one step closer to joining a professional orchestra."

"And not just any orchestra, but the London Symphony Orchestra", Tzuyu emphasized, "They are ranked in the top five of Gramophone's World's Greatest Orchestras alongside the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Vienna Philharmonic, the Berlin Philharmonic, and the Royal Concertgebouw."

With every compliment, my nervous giggle grew. At least through their whirlwind of voices, I can still communicate with Sana and Chaeyoung.

"I'm happy for you", Chaeyoung signed ecstatically after Sana translated my words for her.

"Me too", Sana added with a pinch to my cheek, "You deserve it."

On the other end of our circle, the elder members threw sideways glances at each other. The noise only fully settled down once Nayeon finished her chocolate and vanilla-flavored Battenberg cake. An air of thoughtful joviality filled the hall.

"I think Mina's advancement is a sign that we need to step our game up", Nayeon playfully nudged the arms of Jeongyeon and Momo.

"Yeah!" the violinist affirmed, "We graduates aren't just going to sit around and wait for opportunities to be handed to us."

"What are you guys going to do once the rest of us go back to school?" Sana asked the trio of Juilliard graduates.

Jeongyeon briefed the group about their upcoming plans, "The three of us have mainly been doing freelance work over the summer, and Nayeon just completed a festival. But once we won't have time to spend with you guys anymore, we're going to start looking around for vacant orchestra positions. It's going to be difficult, especially for me since timpani positions come once in a blue moon, but we're not going to give up."

"We're also going to be giving instrumental lessons too. That way we have some source of income", Momo added, "Nayeon already has one student."

"Really? Who?" Jihyo asked.

Nayeon's cool eyes connected with the curious violist, "Sungyeon, Bona's daughter. She actually wants to learn the bassoon but the instrument is still too big for her to handle, so we're starting off small. At least she'll have a general idea of how woodwinds work."

Sungyeon's situation reminded me of when I was younger. The bassoon wasn't my first instrument either; it was the clarinet.

"Mina's impact", Nayeon laughed and another nervous giggle escaped from my lips.

"Don't worry. We're not going to disappear from your lives forever", Jeongyeon promised, "I promise to visit the Pops Orchestra every now and then, especially since Jihyo, Sana, and Mina will be succeeding our positions. I'm curious of how our future will turn out."

"First things first, we need more members", Jihyo stressed, rubbing her eyes.

"And a new conductor", Sana added.

"Oh, right. That too", the violist fretted.

"Well if you guys need any assistance, you can always hit us up", Momo offered, "We should still be around the city."

At some point during our meeting, one of the Royal Albert Hall security guards kicked us out of the premises because it had already been past concert hours. Before we left, she wanted to take a picture with me, Sana, and Chaeyoung because we were the performers for the night. I guess our concert dresses and instrument cases gave away our presence, but it benefitted us because she offered to pay for our taxi ride back to the hotel. You three have performed so beautifully tonight, that you all deserve to be escorted back safely, is what she expressed before she sent us away.

"Can you guys promise that even if we go our separate paths, that we will all still keep in contact with each other?" Chaeyoung cried out loud to the entire group, "I don't want to forget you guys. I can't think of living without you guys."

"Of course", Jeongyeon signed back to the percussionist.

"We... We... won't leave", Momo signed clumsily yet held a sincere face.

The Seventy-Ninth Measure 

Wednesday: September 15, 2021

It's been a year since the events of this story had begun.

Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Momo, and most of the Pops Orchestra members have already graduated, leaving a lot of empty spaces to fill. But luckily, Jihyo discovered a good number of new applicants within the first week, some of whom I recognize.

At the forms, Chaekyung and Sohee gave their forms to Sana. Both graduate students now, they wanted to join the Pops Orchestra to cultivate their ensemble-playing experience by exposing themselves to different genres of music — one that the Juilliard Orchestra doesn't offer.   

Somi personally turned in her application form to Jihyo during Juilliard Orchestra rehearsals. After leaving The Six, she wanted to surround herself with positive people who were passionate in their studies and genuinely enjoyed making music. The Pops Orchestra will definitely help her grow.

Bona's application form was among the first few in the pile. Her decision to apply solely rose from the fact that she was inspired by our performances and wanted to take up a new skill for her own personal growth. She doesn't have a lot of background musical experience but she's enrolled in Evening Division music theory and ear training courses at Juilliard. Jeongyeon told her that Juilliard's Evening Division is open to learners of all ages and abilities, and thus she encouraged her to join the Pops Orchestra as well. Sana agreed to teach Bona how to play the French horn and in fact, she's more than delighted to share her love of French horn with a new friend.

Additionally, Bona wanted to be in the same section as Xuan Yi.

And speaking of Xuan Yi, her form was right under Bona's. Last year, she was the fourth chair hornist in the Juilliard Orchestra and as a result of seating placements, she's now two seats away from Sana, who managed to maintain her principal position. Xuan Yi actually begged Bona to join the Pops Orchestra, mainly because she didn't want to apply alone and sought the comfort of her girlfriend in a sea of unfamiliar faces. 

Bona isn't the only novice who is about to join the Pops Orchestra. Yeoreum and Seola plan to join too, though we're still waiting for their applications. Nayoung and Yoojung also expressed interest in the Pops Orchestra, perhaps because I always invite them to watch our performances. Without my knowledge, they've been taking music courses at their community college and are also enrolled in the same Evening Division classes as Bona. Chaeyoung is going to teach Yoojung about the art of percussion whereas Jihyo will tutor Nayoung in viola. 

"Eunice, Rena, Pinky, Mimi, Sally, Elly, Lucy, Daniel, Daehwi, Justin, Samuel..." I'm reading the names of the applicants out loud until my eyes fell on a particular name, "... Jennie Kim."

Oh.

According to Jennie's explanation, she wanted to improve herself and stop blaming others for her lack of development, whatever that means. I guess Jisoo wasn't wrong when she told me that Jennie had changed since she broke ties with Reina, but I need to see this change for myself. The good thing about Jennie, though, is that she has musical talent. The Pops Orchestra needs its share of experienced musicians since most of the recent applicants are beginners and non-music majors who need guidance. 

After reviewing each application, I opened my laptop and drew up rotational seating chart to examine how many seats needed to be filled. The strings, which are arguably the focus of the orchestra, are gravely lacking in numbers. The flutes and trumpet sections also need a musician or two. 

I then moved up to my section, the bassoon section, to find that there were only two members in the section — me and SinB. Among the new applicants, none of them are bassoonists or expressed interest in wanting to learn the bassoon. SinB can't be my second chair because her major prevents her from making time for rehearsals and her skills are still not quite up-to-par to be my second-hand. It would take a miraculous convention to reel in more members and we need a great deal of promotions, starting from the Student Activities Fair. 

Up to this day, I still reminisce about my first encounter with Momo. She was looking to recruit a bassoonist for the Pops Orchestra and I was reluctant to join. Now I'm the one in need of bassoonists.

Suddenly, a Skype notification sprung up on the corner of my laptop screen. Apparently, Jisoo was trying to contact me.

I my hearing aids and slung my bassoon case over my shoulder, preparing to exit the library. Knowing Jisoo, her voice is going to fill up the entire room and there are people studying here (Yes, we study this early in the year. Some professors aren't too forgiving with assignments).

"Where are you going?" Jihyo asked as I tucked my chair under the table. She was in the middle of filing application forms.

"I have to take this call", I told her. It's been a while since I've talked to Jisoo and I needed to take a break from staring at an Excel sheet.

Once I settled down in the first floor lounge area, upon a cushioned red couch, I called back Jisoo through a video call. Thankfully, it's quiet so my ears won't be overwhelmed. She answered immediately. Jisoo's appearance changed drastically compared to the last time we saw each other — from Prada and dangerous red hair to purple hair, PINK sweatpants ,and a sweatshirt from Victoria's Secret. She's probably still stuck in her state of senioritis since she graduated from MSM last year. Her newly dyed hair proved to be discernible with the red couch behind her—

Wait.

"Mina!" Jisoo sounded through the laptop and next to my left ear. 

"JESUS!" I screeched and she laughed at me.

"You fool! I was sitting right next to you!" Jisoo bantered, carressing my cheeks before pinching them, "Why are you ignoring me? I Skype called you six times! You see, I didn't call your cellphone because I know you're hard-of-hearing and I didn't know whether you were wearing your hearing aids." 

I could feel my cheeks tinge red, "I... I've been busy."

"Oh, shoot. It's your last year at Juilliard!" she declared enthusiastically, her fingers still pressing my cheeks, "Your life begins afterwards, huh? Will you be applying for Juilliard's graduate program like me?"

"I... I don't know yet", I answered honestly, swatting her arms away from my face, "Anyways, why did you want to talk to me?"

"Oh, you know. I just wanted to catch up with you", Jisoo smiled, "I've been meaning to talk to you during the BBC Proms but I could never find you. The fact that I couldn't use my phone in London didn't help either."

Jisoo and I talked about a lot of things, ranging from reeds to the trees at Interlochen. It seems that Jisoo had also purchased a used bassoon from her friend at Eastman — a Heckel just like mine, except hers is a Crest while mine is a 41i. I also forgot to mention that Jisoo joined the Juilliard Orchestra and is acting as my assistant principal. She congratulated me on passing the first round of auditions for the London Symphony Orchestra, then proceeded to talk about my Silent Sonata performance at the Proms. I will never forget that night.

I know it sounds stupid that two months later, I'm still talking about Silent Sonata, but that piece seriously speaks to me.

"I think you played your best that night", Jisoo said.

"I think so too."

"Do you think I can play on that stage too?" she asked.

I nodded, "You can."

Jisoo set her bottle of orange juice aside, straightened up in the couch, and leaned her head on my shoulder, "Maybe we can both stand on the Proms stage together, just like we did in band camp."

"You should've auditioned for the London Symphony Orchestra with me", I murmured.

"Please, Mina. Only you have the capacity to become a principal player."

"There's two vacant bassoon positions", I mentioned while readjusting one of my hearing aids, "Adam Richards retired and then one of the other LSO's bassoonists died from colon cancer last August. You still have time to submit an application."

"That's very sad", she sulked at the news before watching me humorously picking at my ear, "Are you going to wear hearing aids all the time now?"

"No", I shook my head, "I actually can't stand them sometimes. I remove them during orchestra rehearsals because we have sound shields installed in the practice space now. You know? The ones that protect the ears of woodwind players from the brass players. And besides, I think I can play just fine without my ears. I've done it during the commencement concert and the Proms, and I think that I can do it again." 

Jisoo smiled, "Silent Sonata taught you that, huh?"

"I guess you can say that."

Speaking of the London Symphony Orchestra, the next round of auditions is approximately two months from now.

Jisoo had to get to class so we each gave our regards and went our own ways.

It became a habit to practice outside unless it was too chilly for my bassoon. Practice rooms were small and suffocating, kind of like a cage. I need to be free, I need to expose myself. No more cream-colored walls and carpeted floors; just me, my bassoon, and the fresh air outside. 

I made my way back to the Umpire Rock at Central Park, climbing on top of it, standing firmly with bassoon in hands. There's this exhilarating feeling of performing in open spaces especially when you've positioned yourself above the ground, overseeing every audience member, even if your audience consisted of pigeons or geese. I felt as though I was in the Royal Albert Hall again, sharing my thoughts and feelings through music.

Kicking my ballet flats off, I wiggled my toes until I felt that my feet were fully planted. I turned off my hearing aids so that I could cancel out the chirping of cicadas from the deciduous trees. At this point, I've become more comfortable playing my bassoon without my hearing. The music may not come fully through my ears, but I can rely on my other body parts to do the "hearing."

Smiling under the sun's burning gaze, I lifted the double reed to my lips and played a passage from the last movement of Sana's concerto, The Phoenix. A bassoon can't sing as powerfully as a horn, but it holds its own special power within its deep, reticent voice. Rising note after note beckoned questions of what's to come next. 

If there's one thing I'm going to change about myself compared to last year, it's that I'm not going to chicken out. I'm going to go out of my comfort zone and do everything in my power to get what I want. ty relationships and hearing loss won't be an impediment. Like the phoenix, I will rise...

and I will continue this piece.

BONUS (Sana and Chaeyoung Part 5/5)

Monday: September 9, 2019

"Thank you for attending Juilliard's New Student Orientation! We welcome you to an exciting year at this prized institution!"

Chaeyoung couldn't hear more than half of the information that was being projected at the college freshmen. After exiting the Alice Tully Hall, she jammed her brochure into her backpack, then cupped her ears from the blaring traffic and emphatic voices that New York City had to offer. Unfamiliar smells, unfamiliar sounds, and unfamiliar sights impeded the short girl's awareness. Soaring skyscrapers danced around ant-sized citizens, food carts could be seen almost everywhere, New Yorkers walked faster than she could run, and so on. Chaeyoung could've sworn that this city was five times bigger than San Francisco. 

Among the six percussionists that were granted admission into Juilliard, only Chaeyoung hailed from the West Coast. She couldn't recognize any familiar faces at the orientation, aside from Jeongyeon who is her cousin and is only there to act as a quintessential tour guide for the new students. Chaeyoung garnered news from her mother that Jeongyeon found a girlfriend after moving to Brooklyn. Hirai, was it?

She made two new friends during an ice-breaker activity at the orientation. The first girl was named Chou Tzuyu, a calm cellist who exuded the aura of a princess. Chaeyoung mistakened her as an upperclassmen in the dance division. The second girl was her best friend, Kim Dahyun, an excitable double bassist who likes chocolate and can't settle on a single hair color. With her gargantuan instrument case on the small girl's back, it's easy for one to misconstrue her as a middle school concert band student.  

"Chaeyoung!" Dahyun called for the thirteenth time, "Are you going to walk around the campus with me and Chewy or not?"

"Coming!" she shouted while running.

There's a certain hallway in the Irene Diamond Building that displayed a row of noteworthy alumni through pictures and a tiny description box beneath the frame, almost like an art gallery except none of the musicians have been arranged in alphabetical nor chronological order. Chaeyoung recognized a majority of faces in the musician's corner, such as Nina Simone, Leon Milo, Itzhak Perlman, Midori Goto, Sarah Chang, Philip Glass, Emanuel Ax, Yo-Yo Ma, and John Williams. But there was one frame that she didn't skim through.

Sandwiched in between Mancini and Whitacre's portrait was a man with horn-rimmed glasses and a dorky grin. Some of his features were similiar to—

Wait.

Nicknamed 'The Phoenix' by the students for his undying courage and fiery passion for music, Minatozaki was like a walking ball of life. His life was only so short-lived but it seemed as though he lived for a hundred years. His gallant smile still lives in our hearts. 

Her father attended Juilliard.

"Mr. Minatozaki, eh?"

Chaeyoung whipped her head around at the voice behind her. He was tall and incredibly handsome; almost like a Ryan Gosling lookalike. She recognized the man as Dr. Cseszneky, a bassoon instructor at Juilliard and the second-chair bassoonist of the New York Philharmonic.

"We graduated from Juilliard on the same year", he continued with a hint of nostalgia in his tone of voice, "Minatozaki and I were members of Juilliard's Wind Orchestra when the guy next to him, Whitacre, was the conductor. Whitacre actually granted Minatozaki the nickname of 'The Phoenix' because even though he was tired or stressed, he'd still stand firm while blowing his horn at dusk. He loved music, his wife, and his friends so much. Minatozaki motivated me to pursue my doctorate and audition for the New York Philharmonic."

"Dr. Cseszneky", Chaeyoung looked up at him, "Why did he join the military?"

The instructor sighed, "Even if one graduates from Juilliard, they're not guaranteed success in their field. I don't know how students view Juilliard today, but back then it was a paradox of some sorts. You're encouraged to be expressive, creative, and innovative in your craft but at the same time, the workload does not give you time to explore yourself and you're forced to abide to the strict demands of the instructors, or else you fail."

The percussionist murmured, "That's really sad."

"I agree", Dr, Cseszneky nodded, "Minatozaki was bouncing from job to job under increasing financial pressure as he still had loans to pay off. For his side of the family, the military is a family trade. Minatozaki's father, grandfather, and brothers served in the army and were quite disappointed when they learned that he wanted to become a hornist. His father made a deal with him that if he couldn't find a job with his horn performance degree for two years after graduating from Juilliard, he'd have to enlist."  

Chaeyoung wasn't sure how to respond. The whole 'collectivity and obeying your elders' mentality that roamed within most Asian families was not something new to Chaeyoung, even though her own parents don't submit to that mindset. But the thought of Sana's father's death is what disconcerted her. Had he not been urged to enlist by his family members, the chances of him remaining alive would've been greater.  

"Anyways, creative restriction is not what I want for my students, and President Polisi agrees", Dr. Cseszneky's words brought Chaeyoung back to her inquisitivity, "Mina Myoui is a gifted musician and her skills surpass my other students, even the upperclassmen and the graduate students, but she has extreme stage anxiety and a fear of expressing herself."

Holy— Did he just mention Mina?

"My ideals clash with her parents. Her father is my section principal in the New York Philharmonic and oftentimes he has too much of a drink to handle. Same goes for her mother. I never figured out where their habits derived from, but I'm usually the one that ends up driving them home."

"You're a really good instructor, you know that?" Chaeyoung told him.

"The Rate-my-professor-dot-com reviews don't lie but thank you, freshman. That means a lot", he smiled warmly, "You know what? Speaking of Minatozaki, his daughter is actually a student here. I was at her call-back and her performance was absolutely beautiful. I might've teared up one or two times while gauging her audition. Reminded me of her dad. She got accepted here for a reason."

"I feel like I'm surrounded by talent all the time", she fretted, "I don't know if I'll measure up to the other students here."

"It's easy to feel inferior when you're accepted into an amazing music school such as this one, but you need to remind yourself that you are special", Dr. Cseszneky placed a hand on Chaeyoung's shoulder and shook it meaningfully, "Just like that Minatozaki kid, you got accepted here for a reason."

"Sana! Minatozaki Sana!" she exclaimed and it startled Mina's bassoon instructor, "I need to find Sana!"

Dahyun and Tzuyu were gone by the time Chaeyoung exited the new gallery hallway. It was getting late and Sana wasn't replying to any of her texts. Chaeyoung couldn't figure out a singular place on campus where Sana would be hanging around. All ninety-eight practice rooms weren't in operation, the library and classrooms were locked, and not a single soul could echoed in the student lounge nor the June Noble Larkin lobby.

If Chaeyoung thought that San Francisco at night was horrifying, New York City's night scene was even more frightening. The Lincoln Center was at its darkest. There were no concerts in any venues, therefore all the lights were switched off to conserve energy. Chaeyoung's only source of light derived from the street lamps, the cars, and the fountain smack in the middle of the center. 

The percussionist wordlessly sank to the concrete floor, cold and exhausted from sprinting all over campus. She considered going home and trying again tomorrow.

*bing*

A text?

[Yoo Jeongyeon] Hey cuz, are you still on campus?

She texted away, rapidly.

[Son Chaeyoung] Yeah. Can you come pick me up? It's dark.

[Yoo Jeongyeon] Actually, I was wondering if you could come to me. We need more members for the Pops Orchestra.

Juilliard has a Pops Orchestra?

[Yoo Jeongyeon] It's a new ensemble. We had our inaugural season last year and most of the members graduated. We specialize in playing pieces outside of the typical classical music repertoire including movie soundtracks, video game OSTs, pop music — you name it. We're accepted all majors at Juilliard since some non-music majors want to branch out and participate in other activities as a stress reliever.

[Son Chaeyoung] I'm interested. Where do I go?

[Yoo Jeongyeon] We're at the Alice Tully Hall, where you had your orientation. I'll introduce you to my friends.

It wouldn't hurt to make new friends, right? Connections are important afterall.

She has an affinity for video games and all that jazz, so she figured that the Pops Orchestra might make the perfect home for her. The Juilliard Orchestra can wait since mainly upperclassmen and graduate students comprise of the orchestra's student body.

Chaeyoung picked herself up the ground before speedwalking down Broadway to the venue. When she hastily shut the doors to the lobby, she was introduced to a bunch of music majors and non-music majors milling around with enough food to go around. Jeongyeon was clinking glasses with a friend when Chaeyoung fell into the latter girl's line of sight. She dropped her glass and pounced at the smaller girl.

"NEW MEMBER?" she let out a short, high cry. Chaeyoung awkwardly embraced her, suffocating in such close proximity to her... well... big heart.

"Oh Chaeng, you're here!" Jeongyeon exclaimed as she yanked the other girl away by her shirt collar, "This is Momo Hirai, a fierce violinist and my girlfriend. We've been close friends since I first moved to New York."

"We live in the same apartment", Momo added, flipping her hair back from her face.

She's hot.

Wait, snap out of it! You need to find Sana.

It took Chaeyoung a moment of resolution in order to ask a question to the upperclassmen, "Have you guys seen Sa—"

"You're a percussionist, right?" Momo interrupted, "That's great! We've been having a shortage of percussionists, and cellists, and double bassists, and bassoonists, and—"

"We'll find more string players and we have enough bassoonists! Yerin brought in her girlfriend, remember?" Jihyo in. She wasn't about to let Momo reveal the plunging state of the Pops Orchestra.

"Oh, right! Hwang Eun— I mean, SinB!" the violinist stumbled upon names.

Tzuyu is a cellist and Dahyun is a double bassist. Maybe I should invite them to join, Chaeyoung thought.

"So you're looking for Sana, right?" Jihyo recalled and it relieved Chaeyoung, "Wait here. I'll go get her."

Sana is here?

Chaeyoung exhibited a far-reaching grin after taking a sip of apple cider, cells firing excitedly like the carbonated bubbles touching her tongue. She hadn't seen Sana for more than a year. Sana texted Chaeyoung more sparingly due to her concentration in her horn studies, especially when finals/jury season arrived. She couldn't return to San Francisco during winter or summer vacations because she would either be participaing in music festivals or performing according to the Pops Orchestra's agenda.

Scanning the lobby with her very two eyes, Chaeyoung perceived something. Incredible singers and instrumentalists, brilliant actors, and phenomenal dancers — she's surrounded by excellence, a vacuum of talent. Almost everyone knew each other. The Pops Orchestra members were exchanging conversations about their summer break, their activities including but not limited to music festivals, competitions, intensives, plays, choreographing, performance outreach, and traveling to Europe. Heck, one drama major was offered a part-time acting job on Sesame Street.

Chaeyoung wondered, maybe even fretted about her relationship with Sana since she relocated to New York City. She probably improved her playing in extraordinary lengths, she probably has a new circle of friends, she might not even recognize Chaeyoung. The percussionist had chopped off a couple of inches of her hair after Sana left, the tips barely reaching her shoulders.

Sana might've moved on from Ch—

"Chaeyoung!" that voice was a clarion call, reminding Chaeyoung of the severe sound of a horn crying over all instruments.

Sana Minatozaki.

The two girls hugged in reunion, like fitting two missing puzzle pieces together. Chaeyoung is frozen, thrilled and emotional with the entwining of Sana's arms around her. Sana's fingers raked through Chaeyoung's hair as she pulled the small girl into her chest. Being reunited with her best friend and basting in her warmth moved Chaeyoung to teats. They came to the realization that their mutual support since day one had worked and that they're no longer on the opposite sides of the country. A hug was an exchange of triumph between the two girls.

They did it. Sana and Chaeyoung are both officially students at Juilliard.