Rehearsals and Cracks

Rehearsing after winning a battle of the bands should be easy.

But today... it isn’t.

The garage where we always practice feels smaller. The sound of the strings, which once felt like home, now echoes with a strange weight. Like something’s out of tune — not in the instruments, but between us.

Dante shows up first. Quiet. Carrying his bass like someone carrying a doubt.

“You’re late,” he says, without even looking at me.

“Yeah, had some stuff to deal with.”

Clara. It was Clara, of course. But I don’t say that. It’s not his business. Or... maybe it is. I don’t know anymore.

Lina comes in next, kicking an empty can out of the way. “Let’s get this over with. I have work in two hours.”

We start playing. An old song. One of the first I ever wrote. And for the first time, it doesn’t sound the same.

It feels like we’re faking it.

Midway through the second chorus, Dante stops playing.

“Sorry,” he says. “But are we really going to pretend everything’s normal?”

My stomach sinks.

“What are you talking about?”

He crosses his arms, leaning on the amp.

“Since the battle, you’ve been... different. Distracted. Distant. You disappear, write with someone else, disappear again. The Luna who used to rehearse until her hands bled... she’s somewhere else now.”

“I’m still here.”

“Physically, maybe.”

Lina watches silently, lightly tapping her drumsticks on her knee like she’s waiting for the right moment to jump in.

“Are you guys turning this into a teen drama now?” she says, sarcasm thick. “Or are we playing?”

“This isn’t drama, Lina,” Dante says. “It’s us losing what made the band work.”

I stay silent. Because part of me wants to yell at him. And another part wants to admit he’s right.

But I can’t give her up.

Clara.

She stirs something in me that not even music alone ever did. Like I found a new melody inside my chest. And yes, it scares me. But it moves me too.

“I’m trying to balance everything,” I say. “That’s all.”

“Balance? Luna, you’re walking a tightrope with your eyes closed. And the ones who’ll fall with you... are us.”

He goes quiet, then sighs.

“Just think about what’s at stake, okay?”

When rehearsal ends, I stay behind. Alone.

I sit by the amp, plug in my guitar, and play slowly. No lyrics. No structure. Just feelings.

Broken sounds, chords that cry.

For a moment, I wonder if Clara would feel this. If she’d understand that this song, right now, is made of the fear of losing everything.

And still... I can’t choose between her and the stage.

Because deep down, maybe I want both.

I leave the garage when the sky’s already turning dark. The city pulses like always, indifferent to my internal war.

I check my phone.

A message from her.

Clara:

“Saw a sunset today that looked like one of your songs. Want to hear it?”

I take a deep breath. Type slowly.

Luna:

“My song came out a little crooked today. But maybe with you, it makes sense.”

She replies fast.

Clara:

“Then let me hear it. Even the out-of-tune parts.”

I close my eyes, holding the phone to my chest.

Because sometimes, the most beautiful note... is the one that almost breaks.

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