Ayla
The stage lights felt warmer as they hit me standing in the middle of a fake balcony built from wood and fabric. I was wearing an ivory Juliet dress, one hand lifted like in the classic scene.
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
My voice came out steady. I wasn’t saying the monologue just as Juliet, but also as Ayla, someone who had been holding way too much inside her chest since that morning. Strangely enough, it all felt… normal. No overwhelming nerves. No fear like I’d imagined.
I admitted I had overthought my version of Juliet a little too much.
I stepped closer to the edge of the balcony and looked out toward the audience seats drowned in darkness. The spotlight made it impossible to see faces clearly, but I knew exactly where to look.
Third row. Slightly to the ri
