- - - - - Elysian Hall - - - 6:30 P.M. - - - - - -
Backstage, the room was a hive of activity, filled with the rustle of costumes, the murmur of last-minute rehearsals, and the soft clatter of instruments being tuned.
Amid the bustling chaos, Afia drifted into a light nap, her mind seeking a brief refuge from the excitement and nerves that filled the air. But the peace was short-lived.
"Afia…"
The voice, gentle yet firm, pulled her from the depths of sleep. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, before recognizing the voice as her grandfather's—a comforting echo.
"Afia, it's time to get up."
She opened her eyes fully, the reality of the noisy backstage room rushing back to her. Across the room, Mariana weaved her way through the crowd, her eyes fixed on Afia with a look of urgency.
"Afia, it's almost time. Ten more minutes," Mariana said, her voice calm but edged with excitement.
Afia offered her a reassuring smile, turning her gaze to the mirror in front of her. The reflection staring back was focused, composed, but there was a flicker of anxiety in her eyes. "Where's Tim?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.
"I'm here!" Tim's voice rang out as he burst through the door, breathless and flushed. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his expression sheepish. "I'm sorry, traffic was terrible, but I'm not late this time, right?" he panted, his words tumbling over each other.
Mariana folded her arms, a look of mild annoyance crossing her face. "Yeah, Tim, but today is important. I told you I could pick you up."
Tim scratched his head, guilt tugging at his features. "I'm sorry, Mariana. I just didn't want to be a burden."
Mariana huffed but took her seat next to Afia without another word. Afia, ever the peacekeeper, smiled at Tim to put him at ease. "Don't worry, Tim. Get ready—it's almost our turn."
Tim's face brightened at her words, and he quickly took his place, focusing on his breathing as he prepared himself for the performance ahead.
In the auditorium, the air was thick with anticipation. Whispered conversations floated through the dimly lit space, merging into a low hum of expectation. The audience waited, their eyes fixed on the stage, where the first notes of the evening would soon emerge.
As Afia stepped onto the stage, a hush fell over the room. The spotlight bathed her in a soft glow, casting delicate shadows across her face. She took a deep breath, laying her hand gently on the bow of her violin. The moment the bow touched the strings, the silence shattered.
The sound of the violin began as a single, delicate note, trembling in the air like a fragile thread of silver. It was a sound that seemed to rise from the earth's core, resonating with a timeless beauty that spoke of ancient memories and forgotten dreams. As the bow glided across the strings, the note grew, blossoming into a rich, warm tone that filled the auditorium with a profound sense of longing and melancholy.
Each stroke of the bow was a whisper of emotion, soft and intimate, pulling the listeners deeper into a world where words were unnecessary. The notes flowed together like a river, winding through valleys of sorrow and peaks of joy, the melody as fragile as a spider's web yet powerful enough to stir the deepest recesses of the soul.
Then, as if in response to the violin's call, the piano joined in. Its entry was subtle, the keys touched with a delicate grace that perfectly complemented the violin's plaintive cry. The piano's notes were deep, rounded, a gentle caress that grounded the violin's ethereal melody. Together, they wove a harmony so perfect, so poignant, it felt as though it had existed forever, waiting only for this moment to be heard.
The violin soared above the piano's steady chords, its higher notes fluttering like birds in flight, while the piano provided a rich, textured foundation below. Their interplay was a conversation—at times the violin led, its voice clear and bright, with the piano responding in tender echoes. At other moments, the piano took the lead, its chords deep and resonant, while the violin wove intricate melodies around them like vines climbing a sturdy oak.
As the melody unfolded, it told a story without words—a tale of love, loss, hope, and despair. The violin wept with sorrow one moment, then sang with joy the next, its voice as versatile as it was expressive. The music was a mirror of life itself, capturing its highs and lows, its joys and sorrows, all woven into a tapestry of sound.
The vibrato added a touch of vulnerability, causing the notes to shimmer with emotion, like the flickering light of a candle in the dark. The melody rose and fell in waves, each note a brushstroke on the canvas of silence, painting a picture of exquisite beauty.
As the music continued, it transported the audience to another world—a place where time stood still, where the only thing that mattered was the sound of the violin and piano and the emotions they evoked. The music lingered in the air long after the last note had faded, leaving behind an echo of its beauty, a memory that would not soon be forgotten.
But then, amidst the haunting beauty of the music, Afia heard something—a voice, distinct and clear, cutting through the melody like a sharp knife through silk. It wasn't her grandfather's voice, the one that had woken her earlier. This voice was different, unfamiliar, yet strangely compelling.
"Afia…"
Startled, Afia's eyes darted around the room, searching for the source. Her gaze finally landed on a figure in the 3 floor, center room. The figure was a woman, her eyes locked onto Afia with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.
The woman's lips didn't move, but the voice echoed in Afia's mind again. "Afia, my name is Rayen Ayelen."
Afia's brows furrowed in confusion. Who was this woman? And how could she penetrate Afia's mental defenses, something no one had ever done except her grandfather?
Rayen's voice continued in Afia's head. "My Name is Rayen Ayelen. Like you, I have a special ability. That's why you can hear me."
Afia, her heart pounding, asked silently, "Why are you telling me this?"
Rayen's lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile. "Because I need your help."
"Help?" Afia's thoughts were a jumble of confusion and skepticism. "With what?"
Rayen's smile deepened, a knowing look in her eyes. "Afia, I know you're looking for someone. I can help you find them and in return I need you."
Afia's breath caught in her throat. How could this stranger know about her search, the one she had shared with no one?
Rayen's voice was gentle but firm. "I'll leave my card here. Find me if you want to talk, I'll be waiting."
And with that, Leonce push Rayen's wheelchair toward the door, their movements fluid, and left the auditorium. Afia's eyes followed her, but within moments, the mysterious woman had vanished.
After the concert ended, the applause still ringing in her ears, Afia walked off the stage, her mind buzzing with questions. Was everything she had just experienced real? How had Rayen's voice pierced through her mental barriers?
Afia made her way to the seat where Rayen had been sitting. She looked around carefully, and there, on the seat, was a small business card. She picked it up, her hands trembling slightly.
"Rayen Ayelen?" she murmured to herself, turning the card over in her fingers.
"Afia? Why are you still here?" Mariana's voice broke through her thoughts, calling out to her from the stage.
Afia quickly tucked the card into her pocket, turning to face her friend. "Mariana, I was just about to head out," she replied, her voice steady, though her mind was anything but.
Outside the auditorium, a crowd had gathered, eager to meet the musicians. The noise of excited chatter filled the air, a stark contrast to the eerie silence that had followed Rayen's departure.
Tim, standing just behind the door, fidgeted nervously. "Tim, aren't you coming out?" Afia asked as she and Mariana approached him.
Tim shifted uneasily. "I'm just a newbie. Probably no one's here to see me."
Afia and Marian exchanged a knowing look, then each took one of Tim's arms, dragging him out into the hall where the crowd waited. "No need to be nervous," Mariana said with a smile. "Everyone has their first."
Afia nodded in agreement, giving Tim's arm a reassuring squeeze. The three of them descended the stairs together, joining the other musicians as they mingled with the audience.
"Afia, darling!" The voice of Kael Akachi, her father, cut through the crowd. He was beaming with pride, his arms open wide as he called out to her.
Afia ran to him, embracing him tightly. Her father, the governor of the state, was a man of great importance, but to her, he was just Dad.
"You were amazing, Afia," her mother, Rowan Sinclair, said, joining them with a warm smile. Rowan, a former famous cellist, radiated elegance and grace, her pride in her daughter evident in her eyes.
Afia hugged her mother, the familiar scent of her perfume bringing a sense of comfort. But even as her parents spoke with their friends, congratulating her on her performance, Afia's mind was elsewhere, her thoughts returning to the mysterious woman who had somehow entered her mind.
She scanned the crowd once more, her eyes drifting over the sea of faces. In the corner, she spotted Tim, nervously attempting to blend into the lively crowd, his awkwardness palpable.
Afia's gaze shifted back to her parents, who were deeply engrossed in conversation with others, their attention far from her.
There were times when she wished her family were just ordinary people. The distance between them was something she had grown accustomed to—always busy, always absent, leaving her to navigate life on her own. Afia was used to being alone.