Midnight rain | Bright Vachirawit

Chapter 1

At the reception desk, an older woman was flipping through a notebook in a mechanical gesture, her wrinkled fingers gliding over the paper as if her mind was already elsewhere. The soft sound of turning pages blended with the distant hum of the air conditioning, creating a monotonous melody in the sterile, impersonal space. Her heavy, outdated glasses slowly slid down her nose, like a small detail fading away with time. With a quick push of her finger, she readjusted them without taking her eyes off the notebook, then looked up, her eyes squinting slightly with hesitation.

– Ven✶m? she pronounced, her voice almost drowned out by the muffled hum of the room.

The name hung in the air for a brief moment, but it was enough to change the atmosphere. Aspen, Brooklyn, Lola, and Danny sprang from their seats like a suddenly released spring. This synchronized, almost instinctive movement broke the heavy silence, drawing the attention of the other candidates. Some, sitting in nervous anticipation, glanced up with curiosity, while others remained frozen, their faces tense with anxiety. About a dozen girls were there, all from different backgrounds, a patchwork of languages and origins, yet united by the same goal: to nail this audition, to stand out, to exist in this room where every second seemed to weigh a ton.

Brooklyn led the way, as usual, her upright and determined stride reminding her friends that they hadn't come here to hesitate. Her closed expression betrayed intense concentration as she walked steadily toward the receptionist. Behind her, her bandmates followed closely, like a unit bonded by months of rehearsals and shared dreams. The bags they had abandoned on the floor a few minutes earlier were swiftly grabbed, and each of them reached for their ID card with a certain nervousness.

Once at the desk, Brooklyn handed over the group's card and ID without a word, followed by her three friends. The woman behind the counter took the documents with a weary gesture, her eyes moving slowly and methodically from the papers to the girls' faces, as if she were searching for an invisible deception. Every second of silence felt like an eternity, and Aspen, despite herself, felt tension rise in her muscles. The air in the room seemed to thicken around them, the white, impersonal walls creating a sense of emptiness.
Bangkok, with its chaotic streets and constant noise, felt thousands of miles away, far from this sanitized room where the only thing that mattered was success.

The receptionist eventually returned their cards after one last meticulous check, before handing over four small plastic badges bearing the number 34, gesturing toward them with a simple nod. A brief smile flickered on her tired face, but it was just a polite, almost automatic gesture.

– Pin them to your shirts, and good luck, she murmured, pointing to a door on her right. You can go in.

Danny, always quick, grabbed the badges and distributed them with silent efficiency. Aspen slung her bag over her shoulder, adjusted her t-shirt before pinning the badge to it, then followed the group across the room toward the designated door. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the space, amplified by the nervous anticipation that seemed to fill the air. They crossed the threshold and found themselves in an immense dance studio, simple yet impressive in its size. The spotless walls and the giant mirror covering one wall gave the room an odd atmosphere, both open and oppressive.

Inside, about thirty girls were already stretching, practicing steps, laughing, or whispering in various languages. The tension in the room was palpable, almost tangible. Aspen felt her heart quicken as her thoughts swirled. The contrast with the waiting room was striking: here, it was as if every square meter of the room was soaked in the fear of failure, the desperate need to prove oneself. This place wasn't just an audition stage—it was a silent battlefield.

She instinctively searched for her friends with her eyes, but her attention was quickly drawn to a familiar, though unwelcome, detail. Among this colorful, energetic, multicultural crowd, their group was the only one made up of Black girls. It was a fact they were used to, of course, but here it felt more pronounced, as if the difference stood out to everyone around them. Aspen exchanged a brief glance with Brooklyn and Danny, but neither of them felt the need to comment. Such things weren't said anymore—not here, not now. Yet the weight of this realization was still there, silent but heavy.