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I used to think stepping on a stage would feel like a homecoming. But tonight, as the lights dimmed and the soft instrumental of “A Million Years Ago” started to play, it felt more like a leap off a cliff.
Backstage, my palms were sweating. My mic felt heavier than usual. My throat, dry as hell, even though I’d just sipped lemon water. I stared at myself in the dressing room mirror, fingertips grazing the fabric of my white satin dress. It hugged me right, off-shoulder, classy but raw. Like me tonight.
Gio was fixing the clasp on my necklace, her eyes soft in the mirror.
"You good, baby?" she asked, fingers brushing the back of my neck.
I nodded slowly. "Yeah… just nervous. It’s been a minute."
Gio tilted her head and gave me that smirk — the one that said she knew I was scared but also knew I was about to own that stage. “You finna go up there and eat. Like, that mic ain’t gon’ know what hit it. Don’t second guess yourself, mama. You were made for this.”
Her voice grounded me more than anything. I reached back and caught her hand in mine. "Thank you for coming out here tonight… I know you don’t like this kinda scene."
"Girl, you think I’m gonna miss your first time back up there?" She raised an eyebrow. “I’d fight a whole crowd to get to that front row if I had to.”
I laughed, nerves easing slightly. Then my phone buzzed with a notification: “SHOWTIME.”
It was now or never.
---
The crowd was already buzzing as I stepped onto the stage. A quiet gasp ran through the audience — they hadn’t seen me in months, maybe more. I took a breath and walked to center stage, the spotlight hitting me like warmth I forgot I craved.
Cheers echoed. I could hear someone yell, “WE LOVE YOU CLAUDIA!” and I smiled through it, lowering the mic to speak.
“Hey…” I laughed softly. “Damn, it’s been a while.”
The crowd laughed with me. I scanned the front rows, spotting Gio almost immediately. Her almond eyes were locked on me, phone in hand but not recording — just watching. That alone gave me strength.
I took a breath and closed my eyes as the first chords played. My voice slipped out soft.
🎵 “I only wanted to have fun Learning to fly, learning to run I let my heart decide the way When I was young…” 🎵
The silence in the venue was respectful, reverent. As I hit the second verse, people started singing along. It didn’t throw me off — if anything, it helped me.
🎵 “I know I'm not the only one Who regrets the things they’ve done Sometimes I just feel it's only me Who can't stand the reflection that they see…” 🎵
