📘 Chapter 8: Backstage Truths
385 Words
The slam ended with scattered applause and lingering tension. Harizon didn’t wait for the crowd to clear. He slipped past the curtains, down the narrow hallway behind the stage, until he found Clarion sitting alone on a bench, notebook open but untouched.
She looked up as he approached.
“You came back,” she said.
“I had to.”
Clarion closed the notebook. “So? What did you think?”
“It was honest. Brutal. Beautiful.”
“It was overdue.”
Harizon sat beside her, not too close. “I didn’t know I made you feel invisible.”
“You didn’t mean to. That’s the thing. You were kind. Encouraging. But you never saw me beyond the science.”
“I saw you,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”
Clarion turned to him. “You were brilliant, Harizon. But you were also distant. I kept waiting for you to ask me something real. You never did.”
“I was scared,” he admitted. “Of messing up. Of saying the wrong thing. Of needing someone.”
She nodded slowly. “Well, you didn’t mess up. You just missed out.”
The words stung, but they rang true.
“Is it too late?” he asked.
Clarion looked at him, eyes soft but firm. “Not for friendship. Not for respect. But for what I felt back then? Yeah. I let it go the moment I finished that poem.”
Harizon nodded. “I understand.”
They sat in silence, the hum of the empty hall vibrating through the walls.
Meanwhile, Zawadi stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She had heard the poem. Felt the shift. And now, she was wondering if she had misread everything.
“He followed her,” she whispered to herself. “Of course he did.”
She pulled out her phone, opened her notes app, and began typing.
📝 Unfinished Poem: “Second Verse”
I was the echo
Not the call
The comfort
Not the spark
I gave him silence
He chased sound
I gave him presence
He followed memory
Maybe I was never the poem
Just the punctuation
She didn’t finish it. She couldn’t.
Instead, she walked away from the hall, hoodie pulled tight, heart heavy.
- Writer
