Page 85 of Never Enough
Chapter thirty-four
Daphne
5 minutes ago.
I’m on stage for the Spring Concert.
Months of preparation have led to this.
The harp strings quiver beneath my fingers, each note a painful beauty. The melody weaves through the hushed auditorium, a siren’s song that holds the audience captive.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the music, my soul dancing on the waves of sound. This is where I belong, within these bars and chords, where the world can’t touch me. I’m not the girl with the tragic past here; I’m the artist painting my story in the air.
My entire soul paints these notes. My longing for Alex, my wish for fairness… It’s all here.
As the last notes cascade like gentle rain, I let the silence wrap around me.
Opening my hazel eyes, I offer a small, heartfelt smile to the crowd that rises to their feet. Their applause thunders. A blushwarms my cheeks. It’s one thing for me to believe I did well and another to bask in the admiration of others.
And I did it! I have proved myself in a world where money buys power. This moment, born from a journey of solos, heartbreak, and losing my soulmate, is where I finally stand up for myself.
If only Grandma could see me now.
I scan the sea of faces for the familiar ones, the friends who’ve become my chosen family at Whitmore.
And then, I spot him amongst the thick crowd. Alex.
Alex, with his tousled brown hair and eyes that mirror the depth of his sister’s. Standing amid the crowd, clapping, his presence is a beacon that ignites something fierce and warm within me.
He’s not supposed to be here. Tonight’s the night of the biggest fundraiser of the year. Even Celeste couldn’t get out of it, and she’s part of the orchestra.
Yet there he stands, his lean frame easily distinguishable even from the stage. My pulse quickens.
He came back. For me.
The thought sends a thrill through me, chasing away the remnants of melancholy that often cling to me like a second skin. How many times have I relived when I left his life after our last fight? But now, as I watch him push his hair from his eyes—a simple gesture that feels achingly intimate—I can finally forgive.
No more doubts; no more holding back. He’s groveled enough.
Last week, Victoria “casually” mentioned that Alex’s been in therapy too. It was after he dropped off breakfast. No pressure, no urging, just a simple statement that meant a lot.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the microphone, my voice barely above the din, but Alex hears me; I know he does. His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, it’s as if we’re the only two people in the world.
I take a step back from the harp—the instrument that’s been my salvation, my bridge to a life beyond the shattered one I escaped. I bow, the movement graceful and filled with gratitude, not just for the applause that fills the room but for the boy who once saved my life and now will again be part of it.
As I retreat from the microphone, my mind is alight with plans and promises. I’ll find him, tell him everything. How his loving meals make me adore him even more, how I appreciate him showing up for me with no pressure, no demand at talking, how I yearn for his arms around me, and how I love him, deeply, irrevocably. Unconditionally.
Alex, I forgive you. I forgive us both.
My hands shake slightly, not from the performance but from the anticipation of what’s to come. A future where I don’t have to hidemy love, where I can be wholly myself—the melancholic girl with a passion for music, the survivor, the lover.
It’s a flurry of activity, but I navigate it with ease, my focus singular. I need to get to Alex, to bridge the gap that distance and circumstance have imposed upon us. Tonight, we’ll start anew.
Just a little longer, I tell myself while weaving through the crowds.Then I’ll be in his arms, where I belong.
The applause still rings in my ears; my feet seem to barely touch the ground as I float. The urge to abandon all formality and leap into Alex’s waiting arms is almost unbearable.
“Your music was beautiful tonight,” Victoria’s voice cuts through the chatter, making me pause. It’s the second time she’s complimented my playing.