The venue buzzed with the fading echo of the final encore. Backstage, folding chairs were being stacked, water bottles tossed aside, guitars packed into cases that would travel far and wide in the coming weeks. The band had just wrapped up a high-energy performance, and the VIP meet-and-greet had mostly gone according to plan—almost. They'd meant to split the ten lucky fans into two groups, half before the encore and half after. But nine had already met the band, leaving one last attendee still waiting.
She sat quietly on a folding chair near a darkened corridor, her laminated badge swinging slightly from its lanyard: "Radio Winner." Her name was Xylena—a rare enough name to make people pause and ask twice before saying it aloud. She'd won her ticket in a call-in trivia contest hosted by a local radio station, one that had tested her knowledge of the band down to the tiniest details. It had been the best surprise of her year, maybe the best in a long while.
At thirty, Xylena had grown up with their music. It had been the soundtrack to heartbreaks, recoveries, late-night drives, and quiet, solo dance parties in her apartment. Seeing them live had been a dream come true. Meeting them? That was almost too much to put into words.
But dreams, as it often happens, carried their own complications.
Her nerves had started as fluttering butterflies but had quickly escalated into the kind of queasy dread that made her stomach twist and her palms sweat. And Xylena wasn't just shy or nervous—her body had a way of turning anxiety into something physical, something that could completely shut her down. She'd battled it through school presentations, job interviews, even the occasional small concert. And now, it had chosen tonight, backstage, in front of people she revered.
Ironically, not far away, someone else who understood this all too well was lounging against a speaker with a steaming cup of tea in hand.
Lori.
The encore hadn't required backing vocals, so Lori and Sharon had slipped backstage early. Lori's eyes immediately found the girl in the chair. There was a stiffness to her posture, a quiet stillness that screamed tension. Lori knew the look—she'd seen it reflected in mirrors countless times before shows, a mixture of excitement and panic.
She walked over slowly, softening her step, her presence calm and steady. "Hey there," Lori said, her voice warm and enveloping, like a gentle hug you could hear. "You here for the meet-and-greet?"
Xylena straightened instinctively. "Yeah. I—I won it on the radio."
"That's amazing," Lori said, crouching slightly to meet Xylena's gaze at eye level. "But, sweetie... you look like you might faint any second."
"I'm fine," Xylena insisted, though her voice wavered.
"You're not," Lori said softly, with a little laugh that was both amused and comforting. "And trust me, I'd know."
Xylena blinked. "Right... because you're... a mom?"
"Well," Lori grinned gently, "yes. But also because I've spent enough time backstage to recognize that exact look—the one that makes your stomach hurt and your head spin. That look right there? I've lived it."
"You... you do?" Xylena asked, eyebrows furrowing.
"Oh, honey," Lori said, her tone softening into tender coaxing, "I get sick-sick when I'm nervous. It's... it's a thing. Ask anyone—or maybe don't. Some things are better left unproven." She winked lightly. "You're not alone in this."
Xylena's shoulders relaxed slightly, a small, shy relief passing over her. "Me too."
Lori nodded knowingly. "I thought so. Let me guess... you've been a fan for years. This... all of this means the world to you. And now that you're here, it's just... a lot."
