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By Friday, Naomi had almost convinced herself things were normal again.
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She wore her calm like a well-fitted jacket—neatly zipped and carefully ironed. Her hair was pinned back, her folders crisp. If she looked put-together on the outside, maybe the chaos inside her wouldn’t show.
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She didn’t expect anything new when she walked into the music hall.
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But there it was—taped neatly to the corkboard:
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> **DUET COMPETITION: Regional Winter Gala Selection**
> *Finalists to perform live before guest judges. Open to all Music Division students.*
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Below the bold headline was a growing list of names.
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Her eyes skimmed down the sheet.
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And froze.
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> **Levi Hayes & Maya Holloway**
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The names were circled in thick black ink.
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Her throat tightened.
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Maya Holloway. First-chair violinist. Voice like silk. Always perfectly in tune—on stage, in conversation, in life. Maya wasn’t just talented. She was polished. Public. *Safe.*
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Naomi’s fingers tightened around the folder in her arms. The paper creased beneath her grip.
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Someone behind her gave a low whistle.
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> “Guess he’s making upgrades,”
> someone muttered.
> “She’s basically his type. Public performer. People pleaser.”
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Naomi turned sharply, but the voice was gone, swallowed by a group of students filing in with coffee cups and instrument cases.
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And just below the list, someone had scribbled in faint pencil:
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> **#Leomi is over. #Leaya?**
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She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until it burned.
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---
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She found Levi—too easily—just outside the rehearsal room, casually tuning his guitar by a window like nothing had changed.
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“Nice choice,” Naomi said, flatly.
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Levi glanced up. “What?”
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She nodded toward the flyer. “You and Maya.”
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Levi blinked. “She asked. I didn’t say yes.”
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“You didn’t say no either, clearly.”
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“She signed us up. I didn’t even see the list until this morning.”
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Naomi gave a dry laugh. “Convenient.”
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He stepped forward, voice quieter. “Naomi, come on. You know I wouldn’t just—”
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“Pick her?” Her voice cracked just slightly. “Maybe not intentionally. But you didn’t stop her either.”
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A beat passed.
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“She’s not you.”
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“Exactly,” Naomi said, the words sharper than she meant. “She’s not difficult. Or defensive. Or confusing. She's everything I’m not—and apparently, that works better for you.”
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Levi flinched.
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“That’s not fair.”
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“No,” she said, stepping back, her jaw tight. “What’s not fair is that I can’t even figure out what we are, and now I have to watch you duet with someone else like nothing happened.”
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He looked at her like he wanted to explain everything.
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But he didn’t.
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And she didn’t wait.
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She walked off, heart pounding in her chest like an off-beat drum.
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---
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That night, Naomi sat in the dim quiet of her room, fingers poised over her notebook. She didn’t try to compose a melody.
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She wrote.
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Fast. Messy. Raw.
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Lyrics poured out of her like confession:
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> *You said it was just the music
> But the silence left a scar*
> *And now I’m a note you skipped
> On the way to who you really are.*
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Her vision blurred. She blinked it away.
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She’d never written something so angry. So *real.*
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And when she read it back, it hurt.
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Because it wasn’t just a song.
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It was the truth she couldn’t say out loud.
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---
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Saturday came. Naomi arrived early to rehearsal, pretending she felt fine.
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But the room stayed too quiet.
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No Levi.
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No call. No text.
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He wasn’t just late.
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He wasn’t coming.
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---
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She stood alone by the piano, hand resting on the lid, her mind racing.
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Was he avoiding her? Regretting the performance? Choosing Maya after all?
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Or was something else going on—something she didn’t understand yet?
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The worst part wasn’t that he wasn’t there.
It was how much she’d hoped he would be.
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--
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Take a wild guess — what do you think will happen next? I won’t spoil, but I’ll be watching your theories! 👀83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOFcMj2TT5p
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