Echoes and Invitations

The next few days were a mix of inspiration and anxiety for Aria. She kept her routine simple: wake up, write, rehearse, breathe. And yet, even the simplest things seemed to hold new meaning. Every lyric she wrote felt more honest, every note she sang more resonant. Ethan’s encouragement had planted a seed, and for the first time in years, she felt it growing.

Still, fear lingered like a shadow.

She hadn’t forgotten the showcase. The card sat on her desk like an invitation and a dare. She’d turned it over in her hands more times than she could count. Just thinking about stepping into that world—industry professionals, aspiring artists, flashing lights, expectations—made her stomach tighten.

She wasn’t sure if she was ready.

Then again, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel ready.

One afternoon, while browsing a dusty secondhand bookstore, Aria stumbled upon a collection of poetry by Sylvia Plath. The spine was cracked, and the pages worn, but something about it spoke to her. She bought it without hesitation, tucked it under her arm, and found a quiet bench in the park to read.

The words pierced through her like the clear toll of a bell. So raw. So human.

That night, she called Ethan.

"I want to come to the showcase," she said.

"That’s great," he replied, his voice calm and encouraging. "It’s nothing too flashy. Just music and people who love it. You'll feel at home."

"I hope so," she murmured. "I’m nervous."

"Good. That means it matters to you."

The day of the showcase arrived like thunder in her chest. Aria dressed carefully, choosing a simple outfit that made her feel like herself—jeans, ankle boots, and a black top that framed her face just right. She left her hair loose, added a hint of eyeliner, and slung her guitar case over her shoulder even though she had no plans to perform.

The venue was tucked into a narrow street downtown, lit by strings of golden lights and buzzing with quiet excitement. She spotted Ethan near the entrance, talking to a few people. When he saw her, his face lit up.

"You came," he said.

"Yeah," she managed, adjusting the strap of her guitar case. "I almost didn’t."

He smiled. "But you did. That’s what counts."

Inside, the venue was intimate—low ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a small stage bathed in soft blue light. People mingled with drinks, chatting about music, instruments, inspiration. Aria felt both out of place and exactly where she needed to be.

The first performance began, and Aria took a seat near the back. A young woman played the violin with aching precision, her eyes closed as though channeling something divine. Aria found herself leaning forward, captivated.

The next few acts ranged from soulful to experimental—each performer bearing their heart in some way. And as Aria watched, the walls inside her began to crumble. She recognized herself in their vulnerability.

Near the end of the night, Ethan took the stage. He didn’t announce his song. He simply sat at the piano and began to play. The melody was familiar, and it took Aria a moment to realize—it was her song. "Ashes in the Rain."

He had arranged it for piano, adding subtle flourishes that made her lyrics sound even more powerful. Her breath caught in her throat.

When the last note faded, Ethan looked directly at her in the crowd. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

After the showcase, Aria approached him, her heart hammering.

"You played my song."

"I did," he said gently. "Because it deserved to be heard. And because you’re not alone."

She didn’t speak. Instead, she reached into her case and pulled out her guitar.

"Is it too late to ask for a slot on the next showcase?" she asked, her voice trembling but sure.

Ethan’s smile widened. "Not at all. I’ll save you a spot."

And with that, Aria knew—she was finally ready to step into the light.

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