Unwritten Steps

Chapter 14: Cracks in the Armour

Aurora woke up the next morning to a soft glow seeping through the curtains. For a brief moment, she felt calm, the way you do in that liminal space between waking and reality. But the moment her eyes fully opened, the weight of everything crashed down again. The showcase results were today. Wanda's voice from last night still echoed in her head: "Dancing isn't going to pay the bills."

She stayed in bed longer than she should have, scrolling through her phone absentmindedly. Rachel had texted her again: "You'll make it. Stop doubting yourself." Rachel always knew what to say, but it didn't make the gnawing pit in Aurora's stomach go away.

Finally, with a groan, she rolled out of bed. She threw on an oversized hoodie, padded into the kitchen, and stared at the fridge for a full minute before settling on a cup of black coffee. Her mind raced as she sipped, the bitter taste doing little to distract her from the storm inside her head. What if she didn't make the cut? What if she did? Both options seemed terrifying, each one coming with its own unique set of expectations.

By mid-morning, the anxiety was too much. She grabbed her denim jacket—the vintage one she'd found thrifting last week—and stepped outside. The crisp air hit her face, waking her up more than the coffee had. She didn't have a plan, but she couldn't stay in the apartment any longer. Her feet carried her to Blackbird Coffee, a place that had become her default escape.

When she walked in, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the quiet chatter of patrons instantly calmed her nerves. She ordered her usual and found a corner booth by the window. For a while, she just sat there, watching the world go by, the warm mug between her hands.

She wasn't alone for long. Finn walked in, his presence somehow magnetic even in a room full of people. He spotted her immediately, a small smirk playing on his lips as he made his way over. "Twice in one week? People are gonna start thinking you live here," he teased, sliding into the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation.

Aurora rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Maybe I just like the coffee."

"Or maybe you just like the distraction," Finn countered, his tone softer now. He had a way of cutting through her defenses, which was equal parts comforting and infuriating.

"Don't you have work to do?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Finn shrugged. "Not today. Figured I'd check on you instead."

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "Check on me?"

"You've got that look," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Like the world's about to end and it's all your fault."

She stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or get up and leave. Instead, she sighed. "Showcase results are today."

"Ah." Finn nodded, as if that explained everything. "And you're convinced you're not going to make it."

Aurora shrugged, her gaze dropping to her coffee. "It's not just that. It's... everything. The pressure, the expectations, the voice in my head telling me I'm going to screw it all up. I don't know why I'm even trying."

Finn was quiet for a moment, and when she finally looked up, his expression was uncharacteristically serious. "You're trying because it matters to you. And because you're good at it, whether you believe it or not."

The simplicity of his words caught her off guard. She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He was looking at her like he meant it, like he really believed in her, and for a second, she wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was right.

"Thanks," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Finn grinned, the tension between them breaking as easily as it had built. "Don't mention it. But if you make it, you owe me coffee."

Aurora laughed softly, shaking her head. "Fine. Deal."

Later that afternoon, Aurora sat on her bed, her phone clutched tightly in her hands. The results were supposed to be posted at 3:00 p.m., and the minutes felt like hours as she waited. Rachel texted her again: "Have you checked yet??"

With a deep breath, Aurora opened the email. Her heart pounded as her eyes scanned the screen, and there it was: her name, listed among the dancers who had made the cut. Relief flooded through her, followed quickly by a new kind of anxiety. Now that she'd made it, the real work was about to begin.

She texted Rachel back, her fingers shaking slightly: "I made it."

The reply came almost instantly: "I KNEW IT!!! So proud of you, babe!!!"

Aurora smiled faintly, but the weight of what lay ahead was already creeping in. She leaned back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, she let herself feel proud, let herself believe that maybe she was capable of more than she gave herself credit for.

But as the adrenaline started to fade, a new thought wormed its way into her mind. Did she even want this? She'd been so focused on getting here—on proving Wanda wrong, on proving herself—that she hadn't stopped to think about why. Did she want to dance forever, or had it all been about showing the world she was worth something? The answer felt elusive, tangled in years of self-doubt and the pressure to meet expectations that weren't even her own.

Her gaze drifted to the travel brochure pinned to her corkboard—a remnant of a dream she'd almost forgotten. For years, she'd imagined standing on cliffs overlooking oceans she'd never seen, meeting people whose stories were so different from hers, and maybe, just maybe, finding a way to make a real difference in the world. She wanted more than just a stage or applause. She wanted a community, a family. She needed to surround herself with peace and people who looked like her, who understood her without expectations or demands.

In that dream, she saw herself swimming in warm oceans, hiking to breathtaking views, dancing under the stars, and surfing at sunrise. She imagined waking up to the sound of waves, living somewhere she could finally exhale. A place where she could just be happy—not for anyone else, but for herself.

Aurora sighed, closing her eyes as the weight of the decision pressed down on her. She had worked so hard to get here, but now that she had, she wasn't sure if it was what she truly wanted. And that realization was scarier than anything else.