It's Like Music In My Ears

CHAPTER 5: THE SELF-CONFLICT

After dinner, I found myself lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling with my phone resting on my chest. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards as my parents moved about downstairs. My mind kept drifting back to the library, to the conversation I’d had with Melody.

Before I could overthink it, I picked up my phone and sent her a text: "Let’s practice after school in the music room tomorrow?"

It took a few minutes, but eventually, the familiar "typing" bubble appeared on the screen. My heart did a little flip as I waited for her response.

"Sure. Sounds good :)," she replied.

I smiled to myself, but my good mood was short-lived. A few seconds later, another text popped up—this one from Jace.

"Bro, you really need to stay on guard around her. Don’t get too comfortable."

I sighed, knowing he was only looking out for me but still feeling a twinge of frustration. I typed back quickly, "I got this, Jace. Don’t worry."

But even as I sent it, a part of me wondered if he was right. Was I getting too comfortable around her? Was this all just a setup to get inside her head, or was it becoming something else?

---

The next day, after the final bell rang, I made my way to the music room with a mix of excitement and nerves. Melody was already there when I arrived, sitting at one of the grand pianos, her fingers lightly brushing the keys.

"Hey," I greeted as I walked in, setting my bag down on a nearby chair.

"Hey," she replied with a smile, scooting over to make room for me on the bench. "Ready to practice?"

"Yeah, let’s do it," I said, sliding onto the bench beside her.

For a while, we actually practiced, each of us lost in our own world as our fingers danced across the keys. The room was filled with music, the notes blending together in a way that felt almost magical. Every now and then, our hands would accidentally brush against each other’s, and we’d exchange a quick smile before focusing back on the piano.

But it wasn’t long before the conversation started to flow more easily than the music. We talked about our favorite pieces, the challenges of perfecting them, and even joked about the ridiculous pressure we were putting on ourselves for the competition.

At some point, I found myself asking a question that had been on my mind for a while. "So, why do your friends hate me so much?"

Melody paused, her fingers stilling on the keys. She looked down, seeming to choose her words carefully. "It’s not that they hate you… it’s more like they don’t trust you."

I frowned, trying to understand. "Don’t trust me? Why?"

She sighed, glancing up at me with a slightly sad smile. "They think all you care about is yourself. That you’re just in it for the win, and you don’t really care about anyone else."

Her words hit harder than I expected. I knew I was competitive, but was that really how I came across to people? "Do you think that too?" I asked, my voice quieter than before.

Melody hesitated, then shook her head. "I’m not sure yet, to be honest. But you don’t seem like that kind of person to me."

I looked down at the keys, her words stirring something inside me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded, letting the silence settle between us. Eventually, we picked up where we left off, playing through our pieces until the notes filled the room once more.

But even as the music flowed, her words lingered in my mind, and for the first time, I started to wonder if there was more to this competition than just winning. Maybe, just maybe, it was about understanding who I really was—and what I really wanted.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time I finally made it home, the sky a deep shade of purple. I knew I was late—again—and that my parents were probably waiting for me, but I couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in my chest. Melody’s words kept playing in my mind, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she didn’t fully trust me. Worse, I knew she was right to be wary. How could I blame her when I was the one trying to use our newfound friendship to win?

As I pushed open the front door, I could already hear my mom’s voice from the kitchen, her tone sharp. "Francis! Where have you been?"

I sighed, dropping my bag by the door and heading towards the kitchen. My dad was sitting at the table, looking exhausted from his long day at work. Mom was standing by the stove, arms crossed, her expression a mix of worry and anger.

"I was practicing," I mumbled, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Practicing?" she repeated, her voice rising. "Francis, it’s almost 8 PM! You can’t keep coming home this late without telling us where you are. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?"

I didn’t respond right away, feeling the tension in the air thickening. I knew she was right, but I was too frustrated to care at that moment. My mind was a mess—torn between the guilt of using Melody and the pressure of the competition.

"Mom, I told you—I was practicing!" I snapped, louder than I intended. "I don’t get why you have to keep nagging me about it. I’m just trying to do something with my life!"

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw the hurt flash across her face. She looked at me, eyes wide with shock, and then her expression softened, a mix of sadness and disappointment.

"Francis…" Her voice was quieter now, much calmer. "I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but that doesn’t mean you can treat people like they don’t matter. Especially your family."

She paused, as if to let her words sink in, and then continued, "You’re not just hurting yourself by acting like this. You’re pushing away the people who care about you, the ones who are trying to help you. And I hope you realize that before it’s too late."

With that, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there, stunned and ashamed.

I didn’t say anything else. What could I say? My mom’s words hit me harder than I’d expected, and the guilt I’d been feeling all day came crashing down on me. I knew I’d messed up—both with her and with Melody.

I dragged myself upstairs, my feet feeling like lead. As I collapsed onto my bed, I couldn’t stop replaying the events of the day in my mind. How I’d snapped at my mom, how I was using Melody even though she was starting to trust me, and how I was letting the competition turn me into someone I didn’t want to be.

Staring up at the ceiling, I felt like a complete jerk. I’d let my own insecurities and frustrations get the best of me, and now I was hurting the people who mattered most. My mom’s words echoed in my mind, reminding me that I was pushing everyone away—even the ones who were trying to help me.

I sighed heavily, rolling onto my side and closing my eyes. "What am I doing?" I muttered to myself. But there was no answer—only the guilt that kept gnawing at me, refusing to let me sleep.

As I lay there in the dark, I realized I had a choice to make. I could keep going down this path, letting my fears and frustrations control me, or I could try to make things right—with Melody, with my mom, and most importantly, with myself.