It had been one week through but there was no progress, both between her daily arguments with Mino and her students. The first party had never seen eye to eye with her, he probably will in another thousand infinity, and the latter still refused to at least cooperate with her even how hard she tried to appease those teenagers.

Everything was mentally exhausting and physically draining as she juggled two ticking bombs under her nose, waiting for it blew up and shred her open. The carefully layered brick of her monochrome world was slowly crumbling under pressure. She felt rotten, all her misaimed outburst and tumbling regrets afterward was snatching her egoistical conscience and the consistency of her aim. Dara tried reaching out, grasping blindly for any solidity but they either shrugged her off or crumbled away and she was left with nothing but resentment bubbling hot under her skin. She did not understand, could not even decipher to her very own sense at all, the reason people shrinking away from her. Was it her touch? Was she too venomous or was she not at all amiable in any sense?

Those late night thoughts tortured her over and over again since sleep never came.

Dara had yelled, lashed out and ed more relentlessly than before, going as far as slapping Bom in public and vigorously loathe herself afterwards. She left a bouquet of violet bloom hyacinth on Bom’s front door later that day, the bell-shaped apology flower left a sickeningly sweet scent on Dara’s hand. That night she slept with her fingers splayed on her face to sniff on the fading smell; a subtler form of punishment to remind her to keep herself in line. As clueless as this may sound, she didn’t know what she wanted from others and what she wanted, expected for herself, doesn’t looked all too pleasant now.

“Are you listening to me?” Minzy snapped. She is the dance instructor, pretty young looking with her clever round eyes and pink bow-shaped lips. This play was her first take in the theatre industry but still, she is an uprising name with her fluidity in the immersive beats.

Dara rolled her eyes because Minzy is a dancer, although a good one, she wasn’t yet an acknowledged choreographer. There’s a vast different in simply dancing to the beat and retelling a story line through a synchronisation of music and body expression. She was worried, for the play and for herself, if the young dancer could even caught the difference with her young age and lackluster of experience in the first place. That doubt ruled out any intention of being polite as her eyes harden when meeting the other’s equally heated gaze.

“I was spacing out. What were you saying?” Dara didn’t apologized and the other casts, getting ready and warming up at the back, snickered. She doesn’t even sound a tiny bit remorseful and Minzy lets out an exasperated sigh. She held out a musical sheet to Dara, on it were scribbled image of the choreography drawn above the music notes. Dara scanned over it, they had tweaked a few things and her eyes widen. She looked up with a twisted form of disbelief. The dance instructor was standing at the middle upfront of the studio now, clapping her hands to gather everyone for their first dance class and Dara rushed to her.

“What do you want?” Minzy’s voice drawls. Her hand planted on her jutting hips and she looked back at Dara with a paper-thin tolerance.

“My solo. Why did you shorten it?” This can’t be real, Dara’s breathe hitches. A form of anxiety crippled her pride and she only saw flashing red. She tried to supress it but the monster in her was clawing its way out.

The instructor sighed. “I’ve told you but you weren’t listening. Your part weren’t really necessary unless what is left of it now.” Minzy levels her head with Dara, challenging the latter to reason it with her.

“But my solo is important. I’m the second lead! My part tells the whole antagonistic view for that scene.” She was hyperventilating but everyone refused to mind. Shorter solo meant a shorter screen time for her and she needed to get herself out there too, obtaining another recognition to override the nasty stories about her. But, how is she supposed to do exactly that when she didn’t have that much time on stage?

“Let’s get to practice. I don’t want to hear any more childish whining. We’ll star