Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – The First Performance

Miexha's POV

The music room is so full today. Laughter bounces off the walls in soft echoes. A snare drum taps impatiently in one corner. Someone is tuning a guitar—each string stretching toward something bright and electric. The lights above the stage glow golden, almost dreamily.

It's August 25. Concert Night.

The academy looks like it's pretending to be a music festival.

And me? hihi guess what?

I'm actually part of this.

I'm allowed to perform. Surprise!

After weeks of careful negotiations at the dining table, and a very serious discussion that resulted in ten full pages of new rules (color-coded, signed, and filed), my family finally agreed.

This will be my first time singing on a real stage. Not in the quiet, echoing halls of Wayne Mansion where the chandeliers listen more than people do.

Tonight, there will be an audience with real applause.

The thought makes my chest feel tight.

I slip into a quiet corner beside the grand piano, my cardigan sleeves covering my hands as always. I clutch my sheet music carefully, smoothing the edges even though they're already straight.

I'm singing "Listen" tonight.

It felt... fitting.

The lyrics ache in a way I understand.

I inhale slowly. The air smells like polished wood and faint perfume.

Then, very softly, I begin.

"Listen to the song here in my heart,
A melody I start but can't complete..."

My voice wavers, then settles. The notes settle gently into place.

Music has always been kind to me.

It doesn't rush me when I need someone to repeat a sentence.
It doesn't look impatient when I miss a word and have to read lips to understand.
It doesn't mind when my body grows tired before my spirit does.

When I sing, I don't feel fragile. I don't feel like the "sickly daughter" or the "carefully handled heiress."

I just feel... whole.

The chorus rises quietly from my chest—

—creak.

I stop mid-note.

My fingers tighten around the sheet music as I slowly turn my head.

There, standing by the doorway is Zatariel Wov.

Arms crossed. Effortlessly cool. With that half-lidded stare like he's perpetually bored... or calculating your deepest secret. His arms are crossed. His expression is unreadable. And for a second, I forget what planet we're on.

He walks in like he didn't just interrupt me, holding a folded paper.

"Ms. Domingo sent me," he says, almost like he's annoyed to be the messenger. 
"She said to remind you... about... your scores..." He pauses.
"Could be better."

Oh.

Oh.

That stings a little.

I look down quickly, embarrassed.

It's true. My grades are kind of a disaster right now. I study, really! But math? Math feels like it hates me personally!

"I know," I murmur softly.