After leaving Diana's house, Dylan headed home. The sky was now dark, dotted with small, shining stars that seemed as unreachable as his dreams. He walked with heavier steps, his thoughts tangled. His meeting with Diana had comforted him, but he couldn't shake the growing tension inside him. The tension between his dreams and reality, between what he truly wanted to do and what his family expected from him.
Dylan had always been a bit of an outsider in his family. He had grown up in a household where education and security were absolute priorities. His parents, hardworking and pragmatic people, firmly believed that success didn't come from dreams and passions, but from consistent effort, hard work, and a stable life. Their idea of a future for their son didn't include music or dance, but rather a stable job and a respected career. They didn't understand, or perhaps didn't want to understand, what drove Dylan: music. Singing, dancing, everything related to that world was seen as a distraction to them. An illusion, a youthful fantasy that would eventually fade away, like so many others.
When Dylan reached the door of his house, he took a deep breath before pushing it open. He knew what awaited him. A look, a sigh, a remark. Everything he had experienced tonight, the visit to Diana, the moments of connection, already seemed distant as he stepped into the family home. The dim light of the entryway illuminated the faces of his parents, sitting in the living room. He greeted them briefly, but the tension in the air was palpable.
"Out this late again?" his father asked sternly. "You know you have responsibilities, Dylan. It's not by hanging around like this that you'll succeed in life."
Dylan merely shrugged, avoiding his father's gaze. He knew the conversation was about to take the same turn. Music. His father had never stopped telling him that it was a waste of time, that his dreams would lead nowhere. All they had ever wanted for him was to focus on his studies and follow a more traditional path. A path where he could find security, stability. But Dylan, with his dreams of dance and music, didn't fit that mold.
"I've told you a thousand times that it will get you nowhere!" his mother chimed in, her eyes full of disappointment. "You're wasting your time. Look at your friends, they're serious. They have clear directions. But you insist on music... Do you really think it will put food on the table?"
Dylan felt suffocated. It was always the same. Every time he talked about his passion, their words felt like punches. He couldn't get them to understand that music wasn't just a hobby for him. It was his life, his breath, his reason for being. But they didn't see that. To them, it was just another distraction, something that would eventually pull him away from what really mattered: a stable future, a safe career.
"I can make it in music, you know?" Dylan replied, his voice trembling but determined. "It's all I want. It's what makes me feel alive. If I can't do that, then I don't know what I'll do with my life."
His father stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to find some weakness in his gaze. But Dylan didn't falter. He was tired of fighting for a cause he hadn't chosen. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't going to let their fears and expectations crush his dreams.
"You really think your dreams will get you somewhere?" his father retorted. "Dreams don't feed the soul, Dylan. They leave people like you in the streets, begging for a future that will never come."
Dylan lowered his eyes, but a spark of rebellion grew inside him. He had heard these words a hundred times, but each new attack made him stronger, more determined. He knew his parents loved him, but they just didn't understand. They hadn't lived what he was living, they hadn't felt the fire in him that was just waiting to explode.
"I'll prove you're wrong," he murmured, heading toward his bedroom, his mind already focused on the future. "I'll make it in music, no matter what you say."
His parents didn't respond. They knew, deep down, they couldn't force him to give up what he was. But their concern remained. They just wanted him to have a chance at success in a more predictable, safer world. But for Dylan, music was more than just a career. It was his life, his identity.
Once in his room, he closed the door and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were racing. It wasn't easy to follow a dream when everyone around you told you it was a mistake. But Dylan knew one thing: he wasn't going to give up. He had friends like Thomas and Jasper who believed in him, and soon, everything would change. Music wasn't a dream. It was his reality. And he was ready to fight for it.