Chapter 12: Fractured Harmonies
1148 Words
London’s gray skies drizzled unceasingly, but inside the Royal College of Music, the world was alive with possibility. Elara stepped from the courtyard into the grand foyer, umbrella dripping at her feet, and paused to steel herself. Today was important: the midterm juries, where students performed before panels of professors, and where Emily’s reputation loomed large.
Morning: Practice and Pressure
Elara’s day began at dawn in the practice wing. The ivory keys gleamed under fluorescent lights. She ran scales—major, minor, chromatic—fingers nimble but heart pounding. After three hours, she took a break to gulp warm tea from a chipped mug she’d claimed from Common Room Two.
Her schedule was brutal: four hours of chamber rehearsal, a masterclass on technique, then her bakery shift at four. Pay wasn’t generous—barely enough for rent and food—but every pound counted. She paused at a nearly empty piano, closed her eyes, and let her memory slip to Finn’s kindness the other night. The melody that rose was hesitant, then bolder, weaving hope through her exhaustion.
Afternoon: Jurors and Jealousy
By midday, the foyer hummed with nervous energy. Young pianists paced, violinists bowed their instruments in prayer. In Room 6, Elara’s jury was panels of three stern-faced professors. She adjusted her posture, placed sheet music on the stand, and sat.
Emily was next door. Elara heard strains of her elegant Chopin Nocturne drifting through the wall—every note polished, precise. A reminder: Emily had been here three semesters already and owned every stage.
Elara inhaled. When her turn came, she performed her new original study, “Shadows and Light,” a reflection on her own journey. Hands flew with clarity; dynamics swelled from whisper to crescendo. At the final chord, the room held its breath—then silence, then polite applause. Elara let her heartbeat settle before stepping away.
Evening: Rivalry Rekindled
Outside the jury hall, Emily waited, coat perfectly cinched, hair still flawless despite the drizzle.
“Congratulations,” Emily said, voice cool. “Your composition is… interesting.”
“Thank you,” Elara replied, brushing damp hair behind her ear.
Emily’s gaze flicked to Elara’s battered case. “Still working at that bakery?”
Elara forced a smile. “Helps pay the bills.”
Emily’s lips curved. “Some of us are lucky enough to have scholarships.” The barb was gentle but sharp.
Elara’s chest tightened. “Maybe one day you’ll trade precision for perspective.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get philosophical. Music isn’t charity.”
Elara bit back a retort. “It’s art. It’s life.”
Emily’s smile froze. Then she walked away, leaving Elara with a swirl of old envy and new resolve.
Late Night: Job and Jazz
That night, Elara headed to the bakery. The owner, Mrs. Patel, greeted her with a nod. “Busy night?”
Elara filled display cases with croissants. Frosted pastries gleamed. She worked methodically—kneading dough, steaming milk—finding solace in routine.
A radio in the corner crackled jazz; an impromptu sax solo bloomed through warm notes. She paused, spoon in hand, letting the music soothe her. For a moment, bakery flour and jazz combined into a fragile harmony.
Next Morning: Finn’s Invitation
Elara arrived at RCM feeling bruised but determined. In the foyer, Finn found her.
“You sounded amazing yesterday,” he said quietly. “That piece felt like a glimpse inside your soul.”
She blinked. “Thanks, Finn. That means a lot.”
“I’m organizing a lunchtime recital this week—casual, no jury, just music among friends. Would you play? Maybe the study you debuted?”
Her heart fluttered. “I’d love to.”
He grinned. “Great. And bring whatever you want—no deadlines. Just expression.”
As Finn walked off, Elara realized she was smiling for genuine reasons, not spite or comparison.
Afternoon Reprieve: Shared Notes
In Practice Room 12, Elara rehearsed with Leo, who’d come up from the second-floor ensemble hall.
“Your piece is beautiful, Elara,” Leo said after they finished. “It tells a story.”
Elara leaned back. “I need something real in my life, not just perfection.”
He nodded. “Real can be messy, but it’s worth it.”
He handed her a sandwich and a travel mug of tea. “Refuel.”
Side by side, they shared a quiet moment—a reminder that music, friendship, and perhaps something more could still coexist.
Lunchtime Recital: A New Stage
The student lounge burst with midday sunlight and chatter. A small stage held a microphone and a grand piano. Posters read: “Lunchtime Recital: A Gathering of Voices.”
Elara tuned the piano as Finn introduced her: “This is Elara Morgan—new transfer, brilliant composer, baker by night. She’ll play *‘Shadows and Light.’” Laughter and applause.
Elara sat, closed her eyes, and began. The piece wound through minor motifs and hopeful major turns—her fear, her courage, her new life in a strange city. At the end, the hush felt warm, then applause bloomed.
Among the audience, Emily stood near the door, arms folded, an inscrutable look on her face.
Elara bowed, meeting Emily’s gaze. A spark of something—acknowledgment, perhaps respect—passed between them.
Dusk: Promise and Purpose
After the recital, Leo found her backstage with Finn and a handful of fellow musicians congratulating her.
He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of you.”
She leaned in. “I’m proud I did it.”
He kissed her temple. “One step at a time.”
Outside, Emily approached, clapping softly. “You were… compelling.”
Elara offered a genuine smile. “Thank you.”
Emily hesitated, then said, “Maybe we could… collaborate sometime?”
Elara’s heart skipped. “I’d like that.”
Emily nodded—no smile, but no sneer. Just… possibility.
Night: A Letter Home
Back in her cramped room, Elara pulled out her laptop and began to type to her parents:
Dear Mom and Dad,
London is challenging, but exhilarating. I’ve found people—Levity in strangers’ kindness; new friends who see me; old rivals offering truce. I’m working, learning, creating. I miss you both, but I’m exactly where I need to be.
Love, Elara
She pressed send, then placed her phone on the bedside table. The rain tapped gently against the windowpane, a steady rhythm.
Breathing in the damp air, she realized that this city—fog, rivalry, bakery work, music—was slowly becoming hers. The broken harmonies of her past were coalescing into something new.
And in that fragile mix of struggle and song, Elara discovered a simple truth:
Life, like music, was meant to be lived in real time—with all its imperfections, tensions, and unexpected resolutions.
And she was ready for every note.
- Writer
