Dear Mr. PostMan

The Ball

The night of the ball arrived, and to say John was excited would be an understatement. He had convinced me to come, dressed me up, and practically dragged me to the event, but deep down, I knew he had a plan—one that would finally get me to see the beauty in the voice I'd been hiding for so long. The ball wasn't just a fancy night out. It was going to be the push I needed.

I was still nervous as we entered the ballroom, my eyes darting around at all the people. It was overwhelming. I looked beautiful—John's words, not mine—in the light blue dress Jass had picked out for me. It flowed perfectly around my body, making me feel like I belonged in a movie, but that didn't stop the nerves from tightening my chest.

John seemed to be enjoying my discomfort. His plan was moving along just as he'd hoped, and I had no idea what was coming next.

As we weaved through the crowd, John's eyes caught something—a small stage in the corner of the room. A microphone stood in the center, surrounded by a few people who were either chatting or daring each other to sing.

John glanced at me, a grin playing at his lips. "You know," he said, trying to sound casual, "this could be the perfect moment for you to... show everyone what you've got."

I froze, panic shooting through me. "What? On stage?"

"Aye," he said with a wink, his smile teasing but gentle. "You've got a voice like no other. Just one song, love. No big deal."

My stomach dropped. "John, I—I can't. I don't know if I can do this..."

He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a soft whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "You've got this, love. And I'll be right there with you. Trust me."

Before I could even protest again, he took my hand, leading me toward the stage. As we approached, the crowd's attention shifted to us, and my heart nearly stopped. I felt like I might faint, the nerves creeping up from my stomach and settling in my throat. My hands gripped the microphone like it was the only thing keeping me standing, but even then, I could feel them trembling.

John squeezed my hand, giving me that reassuring smile that somehow calmed me, just a little.

"You can do this," he whispered.

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. The familiar opening chords of Shallow began to play, and my chest tightened with panic. I tried to focus, but my breath caught as I looked at John standing beside me. He was my rock right now, and if I could do it, it was for him. For me.

I opened my mouth, unsure if I could even produce a note. But when I saw John, standing confidently beside me, I pushed past the fear. I could do this.

The first notes came out weak and wobbly, but I didn't stop. I let myself go, the trembling in my hands and voice slowly melting into the music. The words came alive in my chest, and as I sang, I felt the weight of them—felt how they wrapped around me. My voice was still shaky, but it grew stronger as I let myself fall into it.

John's voice joined in as we reached his part, his deep voice a perfect contrast to my higher, softer tones. Our voices intertwined like they were meant to.

"I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in..."

And somehow, in that moment, everything else disappeared. It was just the two of us. The crowd, the lights—they all faded, and I was completely lost in the music.

"In the sha-ha-ha-low..."

We belted out the final line together, and the world came rushing back to me with the sound of applause. I stood there, breathless, my heart racing. I couldn't believe it. I had just sung in front of all those people, and somehow, I hadn't made a complete fool of myself.