Act 0

The school is in a frenzy when you enter. You can feel the energy in the air as your driver pulls up into the school lot. Students pace the grounds, some deep in thought, others have gathered in groups, talking animatedly. Others recognise your car and openly point it out to their friends.

You don’t have to be to be one the other side to figure out what is going on.

Your violin case feels a little heavier today as you carry it around school. You take your seat in the centre of the room, but before anyone can approach you, your homeroom teacher enters, and everyone settles into their seats. You can still feel their eyes on you though.

Hitomi lets out a small laugh. Of course, she would find this amusing. Nonetheless, she turns to the seat behind yours and motions for them to quieten down. You continue reading your book until she taps your fingers. Even though you do not look up from your readings, you nod in response, signalling that she has your attention.

“Today’s the day. You don’t seem excited.” She teases. Hitomi is probably the only person permitted to speak to you in such a tone. She is bearable and respects your space when you are feeling restless and grouchy.

Today there is a current of emotions underneath your cool surface and she senses your excitement and nervousness. Flipping a page, you shrug nonchalantly, “There’s nothing to be excited about. It’s just another competition. Just another win for Kim Chaewon.”

She scoffs in a joking manner and shakes her head. “I guess you haven’t heard the latest news.”

This piques your interest, and you finally give her your full attention. “What do you mean?”

“This year, your win may not come as easily as you think.”

The furrow in your brows causes her to laugh. You are confused. You are the ‘Violin Fairy’, Kim Chaewon. You’ve won numerous national and international competitions. Who could ever dare dream of usurping your title?

“She’s back.” Hitomi pauses, waiting for her words to sink in. She is enjoying you grapple with the gravity of her words. Surely, Hitomi can’t be referring to her. You continue to bargain, telling yourself it’s your paranoia getting the best of you.

She’ll be a first year this year with SOPA. I heard that she jumped at the chance to compete with you once she found out about our interschool music competition.”

You freeze in your seat. It couldn’t be her, right?

“You mean –”.

“Minju is back in South Korea. She’s a freshman at SOPA.”

“And she’ll be competing in the violin category.” You ask in confirmation. Hitomi looks amused and nods, affirming what you’ve just said. Admittedly, this situation would have been hilarious had it occurred to someone else. It’s never quite as funny when you’re the of the joke.

You pinch your nose bridge and quench the bile that you taste in the back of your throat. Slowly connecting the dots, you finally understand why you’ve been receiving countless of strange looks throughout the day.

Your rivalry with a certain Kim Minju is legendary; a story many in the arts stream would know. The epic tale of how friends turned to foes.

Any thought which involves Kim Minju is an irritating and an unwelcome one. Unfortunately, it is all you think about for the whole day. The fact that it distracts you annoys you even more and you rush to the practice rooms after submitting your application form for the competition. You stay there deep into the night until Hitomi swings by and nearly throws a book at you at how little rest you’ve been getting.

“You shouldn’t be feeling worried, if you’re really all that great as you claim to be.” Hitomi chides light-heartedly on the ride back home.

“It’s Minju.” You grumble. Saying her name for the first time in years feels foreign yet familiar at the same time. “I don’t know what tricks she’ll have up her sleeves this time.”

Hitomi laughs at your reaction. She knows exactly what to do to get on your nerves. But you are Kim Chaewon, to give her the satisfaction of a reaction would be an insult to your own name. “It’s been years. Surely you don’t expect her to creep into your room and cut off your strings right before you head to stage again?”

“It’s Minju.” You say again, quieter this time. Although it is a scary thought to entertain, you try your hardest to accept the fact that she is back.

You recall the day as you nervously ambled onto stage. Holding your violin tenderly, tucking it under your chin. Something wasn’t right that day. You remember how your string snapped curiously in the middle of the performance. There had been no way that it could have happened without someone tampering with your instrument. It had been painful accusing your best friend of the heinous act. That pain increased tenfold when she confessed to it.

You tried looking for her after she’d owned up to the deed, but you didn’t find anyone home. She leaves without a trace and gives you no explanation over what has just happened.

A loud car horn blaring brings you back to the present. “Drive properly”, you exclaim at your driver. You weren’t like this before; full credit should go to her, you suppose, for this prickly personality of yours.

Three violinists from Hanlim Arts High School will represent the school in the Annual Hanlim – SOPA Interschool Music Competition. The two other violinists, aside from yourself, are freshmen. Perhaps, the stories of how you obliterated your competitors in the previous year to be the first freshman since the competition started to win first place has emboldened others.

Their bravery is to be applauded, but you sneer at their stupidity. Not everyone can be a Kim Chaewon.

The competition consists of three rounds. At the end of every round, judges will bestow marks on the participant. The winner will be the participant with the highest accumulated marks.

The theme for the first round is ‘Excitement’. You scoff in disgust at the tacky subject matter. Perhaps, you should have your parents speak to the principal about choosing more relevant performance topics.

“Stop grimacing; that’s counter-productive to what you’re trying to achieve here.” Hitomi chirps as she watches you wallow over what piece to perform. “Don’t you feel happy and excited whenever you play the violin?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not for long. You’re going to be excited about it again, starting now, whether you like it or not.”

You huff into the air and block out Hitomi’s voice. Your fingers trace the scoresheet and you can almost hear the soft melody these notes will create when they are played. You try to figure out areas where you can go slower, softer to better emphasis the shorter burst of notes that will be played to bring home the point of excitement. It is a habit cultivated since your younger days of learning the violin, when indeed, playing the instrument has been a joy and not a form of pride and reputation.

You imagine an old classmate of yours doing the same exact move. After all, you’d pick this habit up from mimicking Minju all those years ago.

You take a walk around a garden not far from where you live when you hear a violin playing in the background. You find yourself gravitating towards it. It is graceless and carefree, played with much honesty.

You know the identity of the culprit who is trying to inject joy into you on this gloomy afternoon even before you see their face.

You have played with and against some of the world’s best. You been to halls with ceilings so high you can barely see them and yet only one person has been able to produce such music that is able to resonate within you.

You catch a glimpse of your rival. Dressed casually in a white top and denim jeans, she looks better than you remembered her.

She is taller now, leaner too, but her fluid movements remain the same. She has always been able to gracefully produce wonderful music with her bow and violin.

She entrances her audience with her brilliant playing and carefree smile, and it transports you back to when you were children, playing the violin after classes because it had been fun. Not because you were pressured to excel and be better than your competitors. It was simply because you loved it.

Your hands tighten into small fists and you walk away. The past should remain in the past, and the future is yours to make.

Act 1

There is an air of seriousness when you arrive. Unfortunately, the first round of competitions will be held at SOPA. When your driver arrives at the parking lot, you grimace with closed eyes for you know when you step out of the car, you’ll be greeted by a sea of people in yellow, ugly, pathetic excuses of a uniform.

It is utterly revolting, and you don’t understand why people would put themselves up for such embarrassment. It disturbs you that there are students in this school that actually wear their yellow uniform with pride. Congratulations on looking like a giant block of cheese, is all you can think when you encounter such strange beings.

You reach the performance venue just as they begin drawing lots to decide the performance line-up.

She is in an elegant white dress, so unlike the casual performer you saw on the streets just a few days ago. Today, she is all business in her formal attire.

You take a folded piece of paper and begin unfolding it to find out when you’ll be performing. Minju will perform second and you, last. She approaches you at that moment, taking a good look at you. You steel yourself, readying yourself for a snide remark or a slap across the cheek. Instead, all she does is stop right in front of you and says, “Hello Chaewon. How are you?”

“I’m great.” You reply, your tone flat, suggesting it is anything but.

She breaks out into a soft smile, confusing you even more. “Let’s catch up one day, after this. You look pretty in pink, by the way.”

You frown in response and your hands clench into fists once again. There is not a shred of malice as she says those words and you do not understand. You’d expected a more hostile interaction. Nodding, you turn away, heading for the dressing room. For your sake, you put some distance between you and her. Now is not the time for distractions nor questioning the actions of your competition.

Striding elegantly across the stage, she comes to stand in the middle and greets the audience with her signature smile and a short bow. You genuinely anticipate her performance, after all, this will be her first competition in 3 years after moving to the States.

“Performer 3: Kim Minju. First year student representing the Seoul Performing Arts High School, performing a Brahms composition, ‘Hungarian Dance No.5 in G Minor’.” The announcer introduces, signifying the start of her performance.

It is a fast piece and she is definitely excited. You can see it in the way she moves and you hear it in the way she plays with her music. She is happy to be back. You wish you could say the same.

The music she produces has always been crisp and elegant, today is no exception. Her notes are precise and impactful. But technique aside, she expresses it best with her body. Eyes closed, her smile widens as she plays, engaging with the audience. You can tell they are having as much fun as she is.

Her performance ends on a high and applause soon booms from the monitor. You take a step back when the performance ends. You clutch your violin and bow and begin the walk towards the backstage.

Fun, you internally huff. Fun is for amateurs, for those who won’t take music seriously.

“Performer 5: Kim Chaewon. Second year student representing Hanlim Multi Art High School, performing a Paganini composition, ’24 Caprices No.24 in A Minor’.”

Their stares and anticipation only increase your hunger for success. There were whispers along the corridors as you made your way backstage, “How does she beat such a performance by Kim Minju?”, “It was absolute amazing, she’ll be first for sure”. Where Minju has heart, you make up for it with desire. You keep this in mind as you get into position.

Excitement. You feel excited to cement your position as the better among you two, and with that, you begin your performance. You are excited to finally outshine Minju and come out from her shadow. You are the better violinist, not Minju.

Someone once joked that Paganini wrote the 24 Caprices as a giant middle finger to all other violinist. You took it seriously though; you want to be just like him. It would be a dream to surpass him. Today, you play his composition to show off to all your challengers that you are in a league of your own.

You make them look like amateurs with your skills and finesse. There is no way you can lose when you are this good.

There is silence when you finally conclude your performance, and then, the applause comes. It is deafening and you bask in it. You let out a smile, a rare one, for you know that this is one of your best performances to date. You may dare say, you even enjoyed it. You linger and you look at how in awe your audience are of you.

When you finally bow and turn return backstage, everyone stares at you as you walk. It is satisfying but you search for her face; you are curious of what your long-time rival looks like when she knows that she’s been beat. What you find, however, shocks you. She claps and smiles at you. There is a look of wonder and, is that pride?

Confusion and anger rushes through you. She is an enigma and it frustrates you that you cannot understand her motives. There is no way that this kindness and good nature she presents to you is not a façade. After all that has happened, you do not expect any niceties from her.

There is a clamour on the way to class outside the auditorium when you pass by after lunch. “What’s going on?” You ask Hitomi. She stops to follow your gaze and lets out a small ‘ah’ when she sees what has caught your attention.

“Seems like the results for the first round have been released.”

The both of you stride over and the commotion begins to quieten as you approach. Your schoolmates’ part for you to get a better view of the bulletin board. It would have been humorous if you were not feeling so tense. You examine the expensive piece of paper, and there it is at the very top. Your name printed in a neat cursive script is accompanied by a ‘#1’ and it sits prettily above the rest.

You scan the page looking for Minju’s name, but you do not find it under yours. She is ranked third which surprises you.

“Surprised?” Hitomi asks.

“Yes, actually.” The girl beside you raises her eyebrows and you frown. “I expected Minju to be the first from the bottom.”

Hitomi chuckles and shakes her head, fully knowing that you don’t mean what you’ve said. “It was a passionate display, I would say, even better than yours. But there were more technical errors then there should have been for someone at her level.”

Nodding, the both of you walk towards the practice rooms. It is a small win, but it is still too premature for any celebrations just yet. You know Minju, behind innocent smiles and laugh, there is no way that she will quietly accept third place.

Act 2

You spend the entire week practicing your heart out. Hitomi occasionally swings by your practice room after school. “Isn’t your theme for the second round centred around apology or something?”

“It’s ‘Remorse’, yes.”

A confused look crosses her features as she walks around to examine your scoresheet. After studying for a long moment, she looks back at you, apprehensive. “You’re pulling at your strings too hard for it to sound remorseful. If anything, you sound aggressive. Like you’re ready to beat someone up.”

“I only have the intention to beat Minju. Metaphorically.” You defend with a frown. Lowering your bow, you take some time to reflect. Some finetuning of your performance is in order, you suppose. But there is something bothering you. Something is building and boiling within you, and you don’t know how to subdue it.

By the end of practice, you figure it out. You storm off from school and race straight to a familiar place. It’s Kim Minju. She’s been on your mind ever since you found out about her return. She’s distracting you, and all of this is by design.

You shoulder your bad roughly and slam the car door shut before you bark out instructions to your driver. This is part of her grand evil plan to get back at you. She’s acting all nice on purpose. You can’t understand why.

She thinks she can fool you, get back into your good books before ruining you.

You find her in your old violin classroom. Everything seems smaller when you enter. It has been years since you were last here and you ignore lingering on the memories that belong to your surroundings.

There are too many memories here. The desk where you hurt yourself because Minju was chasing you with a toy lizard. The music stand where she would pretend to be a conductor and direct you while you practiced. You push all of that aside because those memories are useless. They no longer matter anymore. The past is the past, all you can do right now is to look out for your best interests and prepare for the future. 

She is practicing what you think is probably her piece for the next round when you bust through the door and you soak up her expression of being caught off-guard.

“What do you want?” You demand.

The music comes to an abrupt halt, her arms holding the bow ajar as she looks up at you in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Cut it out.”

“Cut what out?”

“Why are you back? Didn’t you move to America because your dad made some bad investments or something?”

“After we moved, he started a business and it’s doing relatively well. He insists that he’s able to support me financially if I continue with the violin. That’s why I chose to come back.”

You don’t buy her bull. She’s back to destroy you and take back what is rightfully hers from you. “What’s the real reason for choosing to coming back? Is it to take revenge? To prove to everyone that you are better than me? What do you want?”

She looks hurt but you remind yourself that this is part of her plan. “You should know me better than that.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Is it that hard to believe that I actually like playing the violin?”

“There are other, more prestigious competitions that you could have gone for. Why this one?”

“When I enrolled into SOPA, they kindly informed me about the interschool competition, knowing my musical background, and asked if I would be interested in representing the school. And I said that I would.”

“What are you up too?” Your tone borders on pleading and you hate it.

“I’m just trying to get back on my feet again.” She looks at you tiredly, the same look she’d give you whenever you had your squabbles and you were too stubborn to give in even though you both knew that Minju was right.

You are stubborn, you’ve always been. She makes you feel like a child again and you hate it. You have long outgrown being dependent and feeling attached to other people. A single pitying look from her, miraculously undoes all these walls that you’ve built.

“I’m going to make you regret this.” You promise, before sauntering out of the room. You hate this place and everything it represents. It was your youth and it was laughter and it was filled with love.

Once, you so desperately wanted to turn back time and relieve this period of your life again. Now that you are older you resent it. What’s the point of missing something that won’t come back? You can no longer return to that once innocent and happy time anymore. Reminiscing only aggravates your wounds and increases the hurt you feel.

You weren’t always this way. They suspected it started after the incident. Lately, you’ve been thinking of how you were always meant to grow up this way; from the moment you were born.

You had an ordinary childhood, but you were destined to turn into a bitter teenager. You can’t fathom what adulthood will be like.

Maybe you will become calculative and cunning like your mother. Although if you could have a say in how your downward spiral should unravel, you would rather be indifferent and cold like your father.

You were born to two world renowned pianists, the younger child of their two children. Your parents never really cared much about you and you liked it that way. You liked being left to your own devices. You were always inquisitive and being left alone in a big house gave you plenty of chances to have many adventures.

Your older brother joined you on these escapades when he wasn’t subjected to the hawk-eyed scrutiny of your parents. He was being groomed to follow in their footsteps, to be the best of the best. He was to revive classical piano, to be its new poster boy and to continue the family’s legacy of greatness.

And he was. He excelled at the piano, a prodigy, while you were mediocre in their eyes. In addition, he had your father’s dashing looks and your mothers’ gentle hands. He was the perfect child, everything your parents wanted.

Meanwhile, you were an accident and all you inherited was your mother’s stubbornness and your father’s asthma.

When he died, you were seven. In an instant the world became a scarier and darker place. No one talked to you during dinner and there was no one to protect you from the monsters under your bed. No one bothered telling you what happened, even when you asked, but you overhear the adults talking about a kidnapper and it is only years after the incident that you are able to piece together how the tragic incident unfolded.

When your parents finally remember your existence, they were horrified by your inadequacy at the piano. The only reason you were not disowned was because they were startled by your talent and how quickly you were able to pick up the violin.  

You had made a new friend at your brother’s funeral. A daughter of your parent’s friends from college and had played her violin in hopes of cheering you up. This new instrument fascinated you. Its music brought you joy and distracted you from your pain and it gave you a new companion.

You pick it up quickly and although your parents were upset that it was not the piano, they recognised your potential when they finally heard you play. You did not know it then, but they vowed to unleash your ability to propel the family name to greater heights.

Meanwhile, you and your new friend became inseparable.

You start going for classes together and it doesn’t take long before the both of you are winning competitions, outplaying people who are older and much more experienced. You finally had your parent’s attention and a friend. But whenever things appear smooth sailing, that’s exactly when life has other plans in store for you.

You stop reminiscing when you finally arrive at your destination. All you do is let out a sad sigh. There is no point in looking backwards at things that you cannot undo. But today they want you to be remorseful, and so you allow yourself to wallow and dwell on the things you wish you could change.

You are sensitive today and you don’t look up when she strides past you when she walks to the stage although you do feel her eyes on you when she passes by. There is no need to acknowledge your opponent.  The value of being sporting was never one that your parents approved of anyway.

She takes a deep breath and positions herself to start playing. You regret watching this performance immediately when you recognise what song she is playing. It is a quiet piece. Guilt and regret are laced in each note and you know that this song is meant for you.

She is sending you a message, one that you cannot decipher nor understand, and you immediately feel yourself seeing red. You try to calm yourself down, but it is too late.

The melodic sounds of Ave Maria start filling the hall and the back of your knuckles turn white as you clench them in a tight fist.

This song brings you back to your childhood for it was the first song you ever heard on a violin. This song gave you your first friend.

You are brought back to a time in your past, when you were crying because you were overwhelmed by a sadness you could not comprehend. A girl smaller than yourself, finds you under your covers in your room and climbs onto your big bed, holding a strange irregular looking case.

With a click, an equally strange looking wooden object is revealed to you. Your cries have subdued to soft sniffles and you watch as she takes a long wooden bow and tucks that funny item under her chin.

She starts playing a soft melody. Ave Maria is the name of the song when you ask her. For the first time, music doesn’t scare you. Music was neither torture nor pain.

An image of your brother’s peaceful face pops into your mind and there is a growing ache in your chest. Lately, music has been bringing you to your knees, punching you in the guts with feelings you swore you would never feel again.

Tears well up in your eyes but you refuse to cry; you are stronger now. Nothing will breach your walls.

It sends you reeling. What game is she trying to play? She must be enjoying herself right now, toying with your emotions like this. She plays you like a well-tuned fiddle and you fall into her trap. You hate to admit it, but emotionally you are a mess. You are normally composed but you feel your focus and concentration coming undone.

You vow to tear up the stage. You are determined to cement your position as the winner today. You want to be recognised as the better violinist among the two of you. How dare she use such an underhand tactic. She knew the impact that it would have had on you.

While you have always been angsty, you’ve always been able to separate real emotions from your performance. This time it is different, and you can feel it.

Your steps are heavy as you approach the stage and breathing seems difficult, but you try to hold it together anyway. The stakes are too high, you cannot fail. There is nothing left for you if you fail. Onward and up, that’s the only direction you can head in.

Your notes are strong, and your playing is wild. You try to reign in your rage in, but nothing can supress the emotions that you are currently experiencing. She makes you feel things you don’t want to feel; you’ve bottled them up for too long. You lash out in the only way you know how.

When the music comes to an end and you hand falls, there is silence. The audience is in shock and there are confused expressions on some. You do not know how to comprehend how your performance went. A slow clap is heard, and the rest of the audience follows.

You, as per usual, receive a thunderous applause but it is different, and you know it. The audience knows it and so does the judges. While it is technically sound, there is some apprehension, something not quite right with your performance.

You leave the stage in a daze. You have never been so careless to blindly let your personal emotions run amok during a recital. It is unprecedented and you take a seat in your waiting area, slowly processing what has just happened.

Hitomi meets you outside the hall. She is smiling as usual but something about it feels forced. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” You reply, “. I’m parched, I’m going to get some water. I’ll meet you at the car.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. I would like to be alone.” She looks concerned but does not push. You reassure her that you are alright, and she walks off in the opposite direction.

You move towards the vending machine, your throat feeling dry. You think your hands may be shaking but you refuse to acknowledge it.

Preparing to insert the coins into the slot, a bottle of icy cold water is pressed into your outstretched palm. “I heard you wanted some water. Drink up.” That detestable voice speaks, and you have half a mind to throw the bottle back into her face.

“Are you here to rub it in my face?”

“I do not understand.” She frowns and it disgusts you how she genuinely looks concerned for you. “You looked really pale after your performance. I remember how you didn’t like to eat performances. Do you sti –”

She enquires like she cares about your wellbeing and it is honestly too much for you. “If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t have ever thought of playing Ave Maria. You know what that song means to me. Yet you performed it. What a dirty trick.”

“That song is special to me too.” She reminds you in a quiet voice.

“I don’t care.” You pretend like you didn’t hear her speak. “You were trying to mess with my emotions so that you could affect my performance.”

“You played beautifully. But you were angry instead of apologetic.” She points it out like it wasn’t obvious enough, as if you weren’t aware that at one point you were so overwhelmed with rage that you almost plucked your strings off.

“What were you sorry about then? Since you were able to pull out the most apologetic piece known to mankind.” You snap. It frustrates you how she remains composed. You rather she hit you or jeer at you. She does neither of those things. Instead, she studies your face curiously and she looks at you like you are missing an obvious point. You hate it. You hate how she thinks she’s better than you, like she knows something you don’t.

“I was sorry that I couldn’t be there for you.” She says it so sincerely; you almost think it could be true.

You burst into laughter because she’s got to be joking, right? “I was happy that you were gone. Your absence was the happiest I’d ever been.”

 You want to hurt her, but no matter how hard you try, she doesn’t waiver. She is waiting for you to open your eyes to a truth that you are ignoring. Instead, in a honest voice she replies, “Don’t say things that you do not mean.”

“I couldn’t be more serious.” You are on the brink of turning hysterical. Minju has always been the picture of serenity, ever since you were both kids. On the other hand, you are a raging current, a storm that cannot be quelled no matter how hard you try. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You made the world hate her. You tampered with your strings right before the recital and you blamed it on her. Your mother supported your actions when she found out, it was the first time she ever looked proud of you. Your father erased all evidences of your wrongdoing with a snap of his finger.

They protected you, like you were one of them. For the first time ever they praised, and they protected you because you were their daughter. Finally, you belonged somewhere. And it came at the expense of Minju.

You sacrificed her that day. She was an obstacle on your path to greatness. She had to be removed, there was no other option.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” she repeats, “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to fix you.”

Flinching away, your simmering anger finally bubbles to the surface “I needed liberation from you, not your saving.”

 “Things wouldn’t be what they are today if I’d been around.” She insists.

“No, I’m very sure it would have been much worse. I am capable of much worse.”

“You don’t get it do you? I would have taken the blame for you, a hundred times over, I would do it for you. I knew what you were going through. The pressure from your parents, the expectations you set from yourself.”

“You came to our house that night I left. I saw you from the car. You were going to apologise, I know. I know you, Chaewon.” She adds quietly. “I promised myself that I’ll always protect you.”

The fight leaves your body and you lean onto the machine for support. Finally, the guilt catches up to you. There aren’t many things you wish to change in your past. Why dwell on things you can’t change? She’s the only one you’d break that rule for though.

You cannot stand it; the guilt rises like bile and you feel faint. A lie you always knew has finally caught up to you. Denial is something you can no longer go back to. “I’m not worth it.”

Act 3

You find her playing the violin at the same spot. You situate yourself from a bench not too far from where she is and take out a book to read. The weather is cool, and her music makes everything peaceful. It has been a long time since you felt this way.

The outcome of the second round were released a few days back. Minju took the first place with a large margin. You are tied in second place with another second year from SOPA. Suddenly these SOPA kids think they have a chance to snatch the competition from your hands and having been sneering at you whenever you come across them.

How naïve. You pay no attention to such childish behaviour, to think you would come so far just to lose is a silly thought and you’ll gladly prove your naysayers wrong. You’ve always had a flair for dramatics anyway. Oh, the thought of blowing their minds for the last performance has only fuelled you to work harder. You will win this and defend your title, and you’ll make sure no one will have any doubt about that.

You don’t know why you are here today. Sometimes you enjoy being part of the bustle. There is a bliss that comes with blending in and being invisible, to be part of the faceless audiences instead of under the spotlight.

Deep down, there is a small part of you that wanted to see her. And today she is thriving and happy, her music is light and carefree. Kids run up and demand to be carried so that they can see what is happening. Couples break out from their little worlds and crane their necks to find the source of her music.

You quietly take it in. She is your fiercest rival for a reason. The music she creates is rich and of a very high quality. You are unparalleled, only to one.

This display ends suddenly though. A burst of light, followed by a loud roll of thunder can be heard, and instantaneously, the heavens open. It catches you off-guard and you rush to keep your book into your bag and whip out your umbrella.

People scramble for shelter, but it is a garden and the closest one is small and quickly filling up. You head off as well, but something tells you to turn back.

You wish you hadn’t because you are met with Minju squatting down and struggling to pack her violin into its case under the rain. You close your eyes and count to ten because you want so badly to walk away but your feet do not listen. They amble disobediently towards her and your arms extend out to protect her from rain.

She hadn’t notice you until now and she looks up, wanting to thank this kind Samaritan. Her expression turns to shock when she realises who this Samaritan is.

“How did you know that I was here?” She enquires curiously, tilting her head to get a better view of you. She is eager for your attention, you realise, and this makes you avoid her eye contact. There are still many things unsaid between the both of you. 

“Is it that hard to say ‘Thank you, Chaewon! You’re not as heartless as everyone says you are!’”

“Thank you Chaewon.” She smiles sweetly at you and you wish you had just walked away from this mess that you’ve currently entangled yourself in.

“What about the second part?”

She looks at you softly and you cannot take it. “You’re not heartless and whoever says that is stupid.”

You turn away. You don’t deserve her kindness, but she offers it to you without qualms. It’s been awhile since you’ve been in such a close proximity to her. The fumes from her perfume must be messing with your brain. “Come on, let’s get you someplace dry.”

Your umbrella struggles to cover the both of you and her violin case and sleeves are exposed to the rain. You sigh, and wrap your arms over her shoulders, making sure she is fully covered.

She jolts in response and you refuse to look at her. You are very sure a blush is rising to your cheeks when you begin walking. “Is it that hard to be this nice, everyday? You’re almost an angel right now.” She asks.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, I’m just trying to take better care of your violin since you obviously can’t do a proper job.”

You must be getting rusty; it was meant to be taken as an insult, so why is she laughing in response?

“I like it when we don’t fight.” She says quietly.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m very sure if someone else would be thinking that we are if they were listening to our conversation.”

She laughs out loudly, and a small smile carves its way across your features. Her lips soon change and are pressed into a thin line when she finally asks, “I just want to know why you did it.”

“I was scared of failing. So, I tampered with my strings and blamed it on you. I was jealous. I hated it. You had everything. Money, a loving family, you were gifted. I had to practice nonstop for days before I could come anywhere close to your level. My parents…haven’t changed. It’s getting worse, I think. I don’t think I’ll live past 30 years old if they keep pushing me to be the human embodiment of perfection.”

“Don’t say that.” She says softly.

“I have to be perfect. Once they know that I’m anything but, they will pounce. They will shred me to pieces, and I can’t let that happen. They will always be the monsters under my bed.”

“I would have protected you.” She insists and you believe in her words. Minju would have built a rocket and flown to the moon if you’d said you wanted it. You let out a sad laugh because you know this. You knew her devotion to you, and you used it against her.  

“We were kids, Minju. There wasn’t much you could have done.”

She reaches out to you, holding your hands. You feel like a child. She has a special way of bringing out feelings that you had sworn to bury in your past. She doesn’t say anything, but you know what she is trying to say. At least you would not have been alone. She would have held your hand and weathered your storms with you.

“It’s still a competition, I’m still going to beat you tomorrow.” You say when its time for you to finally part ways.

She lets out a laugh and smiles brightly at you. It is blinding and you have missed it. “We’ll see about that.”

You call her later that night. There is a sinking feeling as you lie in bed. You are scared and you try not to let it get to you. But your fingers itch and you slowly reach for your phone.

“It’s me.”

“Yes?”

“I miss you.” You admit this quietly. You are tired of acting spoiled and prideful. The truth slips from your lips easily. It has always been too easy with her.

You hear a chuckle on the other end of the line and relief washes over you. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, it’s late. You should rest for tomorrow.” You want to see her, you do, but it has been years since you’ve been close to her, close to anyone, for that matter. You are scared you do not know how to be soft and malleable anymore. “I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

There is a laugh on the other end of the phone and you are grateful that she still finds the things you say interesting. “But I want to see you. I think you want to see me too.”

“What if this is part of my ploy to drain your energy for tomorrow?”

“Is it?”

“No,” you answer quietly. You wished you had the ability to be cruel, but you cannot lie, not to her anyway. There is no point disguising your desires using harsh words.

“Then, I’ll see you soon.”

She arrives at your front door in half an hour. Nothing has changed as she follows behind you on her tip-toes. You don’t face her, but you take her hand in yours as she trails behind you.

The both of you resume where you’d left off as kids; Lying together in bed, whispering into one another’s ears.

“Why hasn’t your room changed at all?” She asks after doing a quick scan. Her lips turn upwards when she sees the note that she wrote to you when you were younger, still pinned onto your noticeboard.

“That’s because I’m a boring person.”

“That, I will not deny.”

You poke her ribs, but she catches your finger and holds it gently to her chest. She scares you in more ways than you can imagine but you need her here. To apologise; to make up for lost time.

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you hate me?”

“I could never.”

“You should. What I did wasn’t right, and I hate myself for it.”

“Is this your way of saying sorry?”

You nod, suddenly unable to form words. Music was easier. There is life in music, and you live through it. You know how to convey your emotions better through a bow and a fiddle. Without it, you are as and as exposed as a baby and you do not like how that makes you feel.

“Apology accepted.” She whispers and she moves closer to you searching for your fingers.

You feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. It doesn’t ease your guilt but it takes away the years of distance that has separated you from Minju. You don’t resist how touch and you hold her the first time in forever. When you were younger, you’d insisted that she was your soulmate. One day, if you could return to your innocent and naïve self, you will tell her that.

Unfortunately, you are jaded and guarded. All you do is hold her hand and reminisce your shared past.

You feel fingers gently swiping your cheek, and you realise that you are crying. You wipe away at them urgently, but she holds you down. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve you.”

“We make mistakes, and that is okay. We fall and we learn.” She says it so softly, like a blanket, trying to put your anxiety to rest. You wish she could. You know she could, if you let her.

You feel your chest constrict. “Why are you so nice to me?” The question burns heavy in your chest, and you want to know her answer badly.

“I care for you, Chaewon, ever since we were little. I want you in my life for a long time.” She looks at you like you are stupid. The writing is on the wall, but you still can’t see it. “I like you. I have for a long time.”

You gulp; her quiet confession leaves your stomach in knots. Eyes fluttering shut; you don’t think you can handle looking at her right now. “You shouldn’t, I’m a terrible person.”

“You are a lovely person that makes mistakes. That doesn’t mean you’re undeserving of love.” You look into those doe eye of hers. She is always so sincere, so honest. She lays her feelings bare, which is a wild concept or you. You were raised to have your cards always held close to your chest.  

“I don’t deserve yours.” You are so good, you must find someone better than me, you don’t say. You hated yourself for so long. What you did was unforgiveable. You knew it would hurt her and yet you did what did not have to be done. You repressed everything, your past and your feelings because of the guilt that you could not admit.

She shakes her head. She has always been able to read your thoughts. “Since when did you make decisions for me?”

“Since we were kids, when you couldn’t decide what to eat for lunch.” You remind in jest and she huffs because that’s a fact she cannot deny. “I’m just a waste of your time.” You add, in a small voice.

She looks at you seriously and it makes your heartbeat faster. Minju makes you feel less invisible, like you matter. “Then it is a waste that you think so.” She says as she cups your face. She rests her forehead against yours and sighs. Reasoning with stubborn fools must be tiring.

“I like you too.”

“Thank goodness.” She says with relief. It has been a long time coming, you think.

You feel her presence before you see her. She comes to stand next to you at a quiet corner backstage. Side by side, the both of you watch the performances silently, and for the first time you come to appreciate the talents of your competitors.

Furthermore, the repertoire of the freshmen this year in general is of a very high standard. A far cry from the anxious and jumpy show they put on when they first met.

One of the Hanlim Freshmen in particular, who beat Minju and ranked second in the first round of competition, is actually good. He has an impressive technique and expression and it surprises you how much you enjoy it. Your surly sulk disappears as he charms the crowd with his happy tune, but it may have more to do with your company, you suppose.

You look up, only to find Minju displaying her tell-tale signs of nervousness. She is about to chew her lips off and repeatedly runs her fingers through her hair. She has always been nervous before performing on stage in such tense settings. While there is nothing much you can do about the former, you take her hand in yours, willing her to relax and enjoy the moment; at the rate she is going, you are sure she is close to tussling her hair into a messy lion’s mane, willing her to relax and enjoy the moment.

After a while, you think it works because she is visibly calmer, and she leans over to tell you a bad joke. You laugh even though your skin prickles. Her hair falls over your shoulder, your arm is pressed to her chest. You feel heat rise to your cheeks. She will be the death of you; it is maddening that she has full control of all your emotions.

It is finally Minju’s turn to perform. She gives your hand a soft squeeze and you return the action before her letting go. The students from SOPA cheer in encouragement as she enters the stage, she is after all their last hope.

You snort, you may care for her, but your eyes are still on the prize. She can try, but today, glory is going back home to Hanlim.

She gives you a run for your money, you give her that. Her fingers dance and her movements are at ease. There is joy on her face, a stark difference from her grief-stricken persona showcased during the previous performance.

The audience is enamoured by her performance, and so are you. With lightning quick fingers, she amazes everyone with her powerful virtuoso style of playing. It is celebratory and superbly delivered, as if she is announcing that she is finally back as a threat.

Her music rechargers you, this is the most alive you have felt in a long time. You realise that you need her music and even though there were obstacles, you will always gravitate towards it like a plant growing towards the sunlight.

After all, she is the one who showed you the beauty of music.

Before her, it was a form of pain. A symbol of unwantedness and how you were outcasted and rejected by those who should have loved you regardless of your ability. You couldn’t wait to get away from it all. You loved the silence and you wanted to be shrouded by it.

She gave you an escape from it all. She transformed it and now music is your clutch. You don’t know when you stopped enjoying it and lost a part of yourself along the way. These days you feel your toes starting to tap to the rhythm again. Maybe there is hope that you can return to who you once were.

She walks off the stage dignified. The SOPA students are going crazy in the stands. She was excellent but you think it is silly of them to assume that this would be the best performance of the night.

 “Scared?” She teases, but you no longer feel any fear. If you do not win tonight, it would be okay. The world continues spinning and Minju will still be here anyway.

“Of you? Never.” You tease back. She plays along acting hurt by your comments. Although you know she is just messing with you, there is a nagging guilt at the back of your mind. She gave an excellent performance, and the compliment slips easily through your lips. “You were brilliant.”

“And so are you.” They cue you to start walking onstage and she gives you on more blinding smile. “Go show them just how brilliant you are.”

Music was always used to deprived you of the love you should have received. She showed you what it was like to be loved unconditionally and for that, this performance is for her.

There are murmurings amongst the crowd and even the judges look at bit surprise. You are smiling after all, a sighting rarer than the eclipse. But you cannot deny this excitement within you. It is no longer a flame but a burning passion, what a change from what you were in the beginning of the competition.

If this character development isn’t worthy of an award, you don’t know what is.

You open with a roiling tempo and without missing a beat, fluidly weave staccato melodies that entertain your listeners and gives the coda all the radiance and tenderness that you can.

You sway with the music because in this moment, you are one with it. All the words you could not say, you express it with this song. All your regrets and rage and happiness and gratitude.

You savour this moment. It is not often you feel this serene and calm. You are fulfilled and content. There are cheers and applause, but you can only think of exiting the stage. There are better things waiting for you backstage.

She finds you in one of the practice rooms. The melodic sounds you were creating on the piano comes to a halt as you watch her approach you from the reflection on the piano. She pads softly across the small room and comes to sit with you on the piano seat.

Her fingers come to lace yours together and your eyes fall on your intertwined fingers as it rests on your lap. Your heart is pounding but you feel calm at the same time. You could run but doubt you’ll make it far; she’d just pull you back as usual.

“You played beautifully today.”

“Don’t I always?”

“You were honest today.” Her words act as a sobering reminder. It always requires more courage to be honest. And today you take it a step further.

“Why did you stop playing? I was enjoying your music. You’re as adept with the piano as with the violin.” She says it softly and honestly and it melts whatever remaining fear you have. Turning to face her, you study the look she gives you. She is curious and affection paints her features; you are tired of pretending that you do not care for her.

You pull her in gently because you cannot take not having her close to you. Being away from her hurt. All these silent guilt-filled years you have led to pain and silence. It has been too long, too painful.

 Her eyes flutter in surprise but she does not retreat. Instead, she places gentle fingers against your chin. Your lips mould together, and it feels like she has placed a spell on you. Nothing makes has made you feel quite as good until she deepens the kiss, pressing herself more firmly into you, and oh, it gets better.

There is a strange relief in knowing she wants this as much as you. Even after everything, she is willing to accept your broken parts and your flaws. You will always feel guilty, but she is willing to forgive and although you don’t know how she is able to be the bigger person, you are grateful.

“I wanted you to notice me. You liked it when I played the violin, so I never stopped.” Minju quietly admits.

You look at her in surprise and laugh. “There was no way that I wouldn’t have noticed you. You’ve always been beside me.” You reply matter of fact. You don’t stumble over your words which is a surprise considering that her words have flustered you. She has always been straightforward, but her directness makes your heart skip.

You enjoy the quietness as she the back of your hands. Eventually, she becomes restless and pouts, “Why are you suddenly silent?”

“I’m allowing myself to feel what it’s like to be free.”

She nods then, telling you she understands. You have finally found a home. A proper one. Today, you break the chains that have always held you back from enjoying your life. You want to be free; you want to be happy.

A soft growl breaks the quiet atmosphere and you chuckle while she looks away embarrassed. Standing, you take her hand with you although she remains seated and looks up at you with questioning eyes.

“Where are you going?” Take me with you, her eyes seem to say.

“To get you some food.” Always, you silently reply.

She gets to her feet and walks with you, to begin searching for something that will satisfy her hunger.

It feels like the start of a new adventure.

Encore

“The cakes are pretty! How do they make them look so cute?” She exclaims when they arrive. She looks genuinely amazed and you chuckle at her reaction.

“I’m not sure.” She looks genuinely amazed and you chuckle at her reaction. “You’re cuter though.” You add and she blushes immediately. Embarrassed, she taps your cheeks softly and hides her face behind her hands.

You’d never understood couples that sat next to one another when they ate. How the tables have turned because that’s exactly how you are seated, right next to Minju. You want to be close to her always, having spent so much time apart.

She tells you about her day as she feeds you a slice of cake and you think back to her shocked reaction when you told her how much your weight yo-yos when you prepare for recitals as you often skip meals. You are not used to being taken cared of but Minju doesn’t pressure you into things that you are uncomfortable with.

From the window, you can see the concert hall across the street that you’ll be performing with Minju later tonight.

You’d won the competition by a close margin but what shocked the audiences more was when Minju came up to you and shook your hand. It was even more astonishing when you were caught smiling and minutes later, photos of you blushing were uploaded onto the internet.

Some concert organisers were fascinated by the entire turn of events and invited you and Minju to perform a duet for a concert for young violinist.

You were turned off by the idea of people profiting of your relationship but Minju looked so excited and you did not have it in you to deny her this opportunity to play together.

“We’ve performed together many times before,” you whine. While you are happy, preparing for this has taken up a lot of your time when you were ready to start slowing down and taking a rest after the interschool competition.

“This time it’s different.”

You roll your eyes because you know she is just saying that for arguments sake. “How so?” You challenge.

“You talk too much.” She sighs exasperated.

You laugh. It still catches you off guard when you do so, but you like the little changes she is making to your life. There will be more to come, you think. Maybe, just maybe you may go back to your old self again.

You do not linger too much on that thought. She looks out the window, acting cross, but you know better. “Alright, alright. Come here, I’ll shut up.” You say, pressing your lips to hers.