Chapter 33: Echo of Tomorrow
Rows of tiered seating surrounded the central demonstration area, where a panel of faculty members sat, their faces etched with a mixture of anticipation and critical scrutiny. Among them, I recognized a few familiar faces - Professor Hartley, the renowned quantum physicist I had interviewed with; Dr. Patel, the cutting-edge robotics expert; and Elara, the philosopher who had probed the depths of my ambitions and values.
But there were many others, their names and accolades unfamiliar to me. Renowned scientists, pioneering engineers, celebrated artists - the cream of Pacifica's intellectual elite, all gathered to assess my capabilities.
As I made my way toward the piano in the center of the demonstration area, I couldn't help but overhear the muffled comment from the audience.
"Let's see if this one's any different," a voice drawled, dripping with sarcasm.
I glanced up to see a young man in his twenties, his posture slouched and his expression utterly disinterested. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone, as if he couldn't be bothered to spare even a moment of attention for my upcoming performance.
The casual dismissal stung, but I tried not to let it rattle me. I knew I had to focus on the task at hand and give it my absolute best, regardless of the audience's attitude.
I stepped into the grand hall, my footsteps echoing softly across the polished wood floor. The space felt endless, with rows of empty seats stretching into the shadows, and the Steinway grand piano gleaming under a pool of warm stage light. My pulse quickened. This hall, this moment—it felt as though everything I'd worked for was balanced on a single, delicate note.
A voice broke the silence. "You may take a moment to prepare."
I nodded slightly toward the man in the back of the hall, but my focus was already on the piano. As I approached, I let my fingers hover above the keys, not pressing them yet, just feeling their presence, grounding myself. I took my seat, adjusting the bench until I was positioned perfectly. My feet found the pedals, and I pressed them lightly, sensing their resistance, mapping out my control.
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. In my mind, I could hear the opening notes of Echo of Tomorrow, the piece I had poured everything into. It was a melody I'd discovered one night, as if it had been waiting somewhere in the stillness, waiting for me to find it. Somehow, it felt like both a farewell and a beginning, a connection between past and future. This piece—this moment—was my chance.
With a final stretch of my fingers, I let my hands hover above the keys. Just breathe. I rolled my shoulders once, trying to shake off the tension, letting myself feel ready, calm.
"We're ready whenever you are," one of the judges said, their voice soft but steady.
I opened my eyes, and the piano in front of me felt as familiar as my own heartbeat. My fingers settled on the keys, and I began. The first notes of Echo of Tomorrow floated into the room, quiet and tentative, like a whispered memory. I let each sound breathe, holding back just enough to give the silence space. Then, as I moved into the next section, I allowed the melody to grow, to deepen, each note layering over the last, taking on a momentum of its own.
My hands moved with purpose, my left grounding the melody while my right hand painted flickers of something hopeful, a future just within reach. The middle section opened up, and my fingers danced faster, the rhythm pulsing like light breaking through the dark. Each transition, each swell of sound, felt like reaching for something beyond myself.
Then I neared the end, and I returned to the opening theme, softening, letting it settle into a gentle close. I let the last note hang in the air, feeling it vibrate through me, as if the music itself was still clinging to life in the quiet hall.
I lifted my hands, and the sound faded, leaving the room in silence. For a moment, everything was still, and then I heard the scratch of pens as they took their notes.
I sat for a moment, letting a sense of calm settle over me, though my heart was still racing. Rising from the piano bench, I glanced at the people on their seats, but their faces were inscrutable as they wrote in silence. My hands still tingled with the echo of the last notes, and as I stood there waiting, each second seemed stretched and heavy, amplifying the uncertainty swirling inside me.
Finally, one of the faculty members—a woman with blonde hair pulled into a bun—looked up. Her gaze was steady and piercing, making me feel as though she could see right through me. She set her pen down and gave me a slight nod, as if acknowledging something unspoken between us.
"Thank you, Rio," she said, her voice calm yet firm. "Echo of Tomorrow… that's an original piece, yes?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I composed it for the demonstration."
A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth. "It's rare that we hear original compositions at auditions. It takes courage to present something of your own." She glanced briefly at her colleagues before looking back at me. "And perhaps even more to leave that much of yourself on the stage."
I swallowed, feeling the weight of her words. I hadn't really thought about it that way, but it was true. This piece held everything I was, everything I hoped to become. I'd put all of myself into it, hoping it would be enough.
After a quiet moment, another faculty member, a younger man with a kind expression, leaned forward. "Your technique is impressive, Rio. But more than that, you have a way of conveying emotion that's… rare. There were moments in your piece that felt as though they carried stories of their own. It was as if we could see the echoes you were trying to capture, not just hear them."
I nodded, warmth spreading through me. I felt a glimmer of hope, though I tried not to let it grow too bright. "Thank you, sir," I replied softly.
The final judge, a serious-looking man with dark-framed glasses, stayed silent, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. His gaze lingered on me for a long moment before he finally spoke.
"Your composition is… evocative. There's a sense of urgency to it, and yet, restraint." He glanced briefly down at his notes. "It's as if you're reaching for something just out of reach, and we can feel that tension." He studied me carefully. "What does Echo of Tomorrow mean to you?"
My mind raced, a hundred thoughts flooding me all at once. I'd practiced, refined, and poured myself into this piece, yet I'd never truly put into words what it meant to me. I took a breath, letting the memory of the music settle over me like a soft weight.
"It's… about the future, I think," I said quietly but steadily. "About trying to see beyond where I am now. Every note, every transition, it's reaching for something—something I can't see but feel is there. And at the same time, it's a reminder of all the echoes from the past that shape who I am and who I'll become."
The man's smile deepened. "A thoughtful answer," he said softly. "We'll take some time to discuss and reach a decision. You'll hear from us shortly."
I nodded, gathering my things and walking slowly out of the hall. Their words lingered in my mind, echoing as clearly as my own notes had. I had given everything I had, and now all I could do was wait and hope.