Chapter 17: Discordant Echoes
845 Words
Ever since that unexpected kiss, Elara had been trying to keep herself afloat—burying herself in practice, keeping her distance, avoiding eye contact with the one man who disrupted her carefully restored balance.
But Damian Sinclair was not the kind to disappear quietly.
Tension in the Air
One chilly evening, Elara entered the dimly lit practice room and began working through a challenging Debussy piece. Her fingers danced uneasily over the keys, her rhythm faltering. She had run the piece perfectly dozens of times, but today, something in her felt unsettled.
“You’re playing like someone’s chasing you,” a low voice said from behind.
She turned sharply. Damian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Elara narrowed her eyes. “This is a private room.”
“And I didn’t bring flowers,” he replied coolly, stepping inside. “Relax. I’m not here to kiss you. I’m here because you’re about to destroy Debussy.”
She flushed. “I don’t need your critique.”
“Clearly,” he said, not unkindly. “But maybe what you need isn’t critique. Maybe it’s a break.”
Elara stared at him. “Is this your version of an apology?”
“No,” he said. “That already happened. This is something else.”
Damian walked over to the piano bench and sat at the far end, leaving space between them.
“Play with me,” he said.
She hesitated, uncertain.
“No tricks,” he added. “Just music.”
She took a breath and nodded slowly. They began a four-hands arrangement of Ravel’s "Ma mère l’Oye." The conversation faded. The tension, too. For the next ten minutes, it was just two pianists—two different souls—connected only by rhythm and resonance.
When they stopped, the silence was comfortable.
Damian looked at her, serious. “You’re brilliant when you let yourself breathe.”
Elara didn’t respond. But she didn’t push him away either.
The Bulletin Board
The next morning, a notice caught Elara’s eye on the conservatory’s main bulletin board.
Vienna International Piano Showcase
Select students will be invited to tour Europe with guest orchestras.
Auditions next Friday. By invitation only.
Her heartbeat quickened. She’d heard of this tour. For many, it launched their professional careers.
But her thoughts tangled. Would she be chosen? Could she afford to go? Could she leave behind the fragile foundation she’d just begun to rebuild?
And if Damian was also auditioning...
Shadows of Ambition
Later that week, as she practiced in the concert hall, Damian appeared again—less arrogant, more contemplative.
“I assume you saw the Vienna posting,” he said without preamble.
Elara nodded. “You already have a spot?”
“I do,” he replied. “But you should audition. Don’t overthink it.”
“I’m not sure it’s the right time,” she said slowly.
Damian scoffed lightly. “When is it ever the right time for greatness?”
She turned toward him. “Why do you care what I do?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Because when I hear you play, it reminds me that I’m not alone in taking music seriously. Most people here want attention. You want meaning.”
Elara blinked, surprised by his honesty.
“But if you’re afraid of me,” he added, softer, “then maybe you’re not ready yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t push me, Damian.”
He raised his hands. “I’m just saying—fear doesn’t suit you.”
Between Silence and Sound
That night, Elara sat alone on the rooftop garden above the library, the city lights painting the foggy skyline. She held her audition sheet in her lap.
She thought of her past—of the little girl begging for piano lessons, of being compared, dismissed, overlooked. She thought of New York, of what she had left behind. Of how far she had come on her own.
And then she thought of the stage. Of Vienna.
She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “I’m not afraid of my own voice.”
Audition Day
On the day of the audition, nerves danced along Elara’s spine. The recital hall was packed with professors, sponsors, and other competitors. Among them stood Damian, watching from the wings with unreadable eyes.
When Elara’s name was called, she stepped onto the stage.
She played not to prove herself to anyone—but to reclaim something. Her fingers struck the keys with fire and grace. She poured pain, joy, longing, and freedom into every note.
When the final chord echoed into silence, applause broke out. She bowed once, calmly, and walked off stage with her head held high.
Unspoken Conclusions
As she left the hall, Damian approached her in the corridor.
“You didn’t just play,” he said quietly. “You bled through the keys.”
Elara gave a tired smile. “That’s the only way I know how.”
He nodded, stepping aside. “Good luck in Vienna.”
She nodded in return. There was nothing else to say.
- Writer
