The Echoes of the Piano

Unexpected Support

The morning after Haerin's emotional breakdown on the rooftop, the atmosphere at school was different. When Haerin walked down the hallway, the usual whispers and stares she had grown accustomed to were there—but they were different this time. Instead of gossiping or judging her, the students who passed by her now offered sympathetic glances. A few even gave her small, comforting smiles.

It didn't take long for Haerin to realize why. The video. The one from yesterday, when she had broken down and said the words she had never meant for anyone to hear—those words were everywhere now.

It had gone viral.

Someone, a student from their class, had overheard their argument on the rooftop. The conversation, raw and painful as it had been, had been recorded and shared online. The video quickly made its way onto the news, with the headline :

"Piano Prodigy Breaks Down: The Untold Pressure Behind Haerin Jeong's Perfect Image."

The video didn't show Haerin's tears as much as it showed her pain, her heartache. The intense pressure she had been under all her life, living in the shadow of her mother's expectations. It showed the cracks in the facade of perfection that had always been demanded of her. It showed Haerin not as the perfect, polished piano prodigy but as someone with real emotions, someone who was struggling to breathe under the weight of everything.

And it made people listen.

The backlash was swift and intense, but it wasn't what Haerin had expected. People weren't condemning her. They were supporting her. Teachers, students, even strangers who had seen the video—everyone seemed to rally behind her, expressing their disbelief over the way her mother had treated her.

When Haerin walked through the school hallways, some students offered her words of comfort. A girl from the choir club, whom Haerin had never really spoken to, gave her a soft, "I'm so sorry, Haerin. You didn't deserve that." Another student, a boy from the drama department, gave her a nod and said, "You've got this. We're all behind you."

Instead of feeling isolated, as she so often did, Haerin felt... seen. For the first time in her life, she wasn't just a perfect, unapproachable figure. She was human.

The news, too, had taken a turn. The focus was no longer on the fact that Haerin had broken down, but on how her mother, a retired pianist, had forced her daughter into a mold of perfection. The public outrage grew as more details of Haerin's life came to light—the countless hours of practice, the constant comparison to her mother's success, the way she had been locked in a figurative "dollhouse," never allowed to live her own life.

Her mother, once a celebrated figure in the classical music world, was now under scrutiny. People began to question her treatment of Haerin. The hashtag "#FreeHaerin" trended online, and the backlash against her mother reached fever pitch. News outlets and social media were filled with posts about how Haerin was being treated more like an extension of her mother's success than a person with her own hopes and dreams.

Despite the media storm surrounding her, Haerin couldn't help but feel a slight sense of relief. The pressure had been unbearable, and now, for the first time, there was an overwhelming sense of solidarity from people she barely knew. The truth about her life, about the invisible chains that had bound her, was out in the open. She didn't have to hide anymore.

But there was one person who wasn't offering comfort.

Minji hadn't said much to Haerin that day. She was walking beside her in the hallway, her steps hesitant, her eyes constantly flicking to Haerin's face. Minji could see the subtle differences in the way people were treating Haerin now. They weren't just being kind out of sympathy. They were being kind because they finally understood her.

And Minji felt guilty.

The weight of Haerin's words from yesterday pressed on her chest. *"If you didn't exist... I would have everything..."*

Minji had never meant to hurt Haerin. She hadn't realized, until now, the depth of the pain Haerin had been carrying all along. Minji had always seen Haerin as a rival, someone she had to compete with, someone who had always been one step ahead of her. But now, after hearing Haerin's desperate cries, Minji felt ashamed. She had been so focused on the competition, on winning, that she had failed to see the person behind the piano, the person who was hurting.

"Haerin," Minji finally spoke, her voice low, uncertain. She wasn't sure how to start, but she knew she needed to say something. "I... I didn't mean to be a part of all this. I never wanted to make things harder for you."

Haerin stopped walking, her eyes glancing at Minji, but she didn't say anything. She simply nodded, her face a mask of exhaustion and resignation.

Minji took a step closer, her heart aching as she watched Haerin try to keep herself together. "I never knew... I never knew you felt this way. I'm sorry."

There was a long silence between them. Haerin wasn't angry. She wasn't even upset anymore. It was as if she had reached the point of emotional exhaustion. She'd spent so much of her life being angry at her mother, at the world, and now... she just couldn't find it in her to keep fighting.

"I just..." Haerin's voice cracked as she spoke. "I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what I want. All I've ever been is someone's idea of who I should be. And now that everything's out there... I don't even know where to go from here."

Minji, her voice soft but filled with sincerity, responded, "You don't have to know everything right now. You don't have to figure it out today. We're all still learning, and it's okay to not have all the answers."

Haerin looked at Minji for a moment, her expression unreadable. The weight of everything was heavy, but somehow, hearing those words—so simple, yet so genuine—made Haerin feel a little lighter. She wasn't alone in this anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to live for herself.

"I just want to be free," Haerin whispered, as though the words had been locked inside her for far too long. "I want to choose who I am. I don't want to be anyone else's idea of perfection anymore."

Minji nodded, understanding the weight behind those words. She didn't have all the answers, either. But one thing she knew for sure was that Haerin didn't have to carry this burden alone. She had people around her now who cared. People who wanted to see her happy, not just successful.

And Minji, despite everything, was one of those people.

As they walked toward their next class, the once heavy air between them seemed just a little lighter. It wasn't all fixed. There was still a long way to go, and Haerin still had a lot of pain to heal from. But for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like she had to shoulder it all on her own. And maybe that was a good place to start.