The morning after Fusion Night, Lily woke up to the faint smell of brewing coffee wafting from the dorm kitchen. Her muscles ached pleasantly from all the dancing the night before, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across her face as she stretched beneath her covers.
For once, the familiar hum of anxiety that usually greeted her mornings was silent.
Today felt different.
No pressure to be perfect. No checklist of how to shrink herself. Just the delicious simplicity of waking up and feeling okay.
Pulling on her comfiest jeans and a soft oversized hoodie, she tied her hair up in a messy bun and padded down to the common room, still barefoot. Jess was already there, hunched over her laptop, a large mug of coffee in hand.
Jess looked up and grinned. "Fusion Night legend graces us with her presence."
Lily laughed, cheeks warming. "Stop."
"No, seriously. You were amazing. People can't stop talking about it." Jess took a dramatic sip of her coffee. "You're basically a celebrity now."
Lily grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter and sat across from her. "A very tired, very hungry celebrity."
"Good. You deserve all the snacks. Speaking of…" Jess leaned closer, lowering her voice. "There's a student showcase next month. Like, a big one. Winners get to perform at the city festival downtown. You should totally audition."
Lily nearly choked on her banana. "Me? No way."
"Why not?" Jess challenged. "You're more than good enough. Plus, you looked like you belonged up there last night."
The old Lily would have recoiled, made up an excuse about being too busy, too scared, too something. But the new Lily—the one who had sung her heart out in front of strangers and danced without shame—paused.
"Maybe," she said, surprising herself.
Jess beamed. "That's my girl."
Later that afternoon, Lily wandered into the campus gardens to sketch. The late autumn sun dipped low, scattering amber light through the trees. Students lounged on benches, couples strolled hand-in-hand, and someone played a soft acoustic guitar in the distance.
Settling beneath an old oak tree, Lily pulled out her battered sketchbook and let her pencil move freely. No rules. No expectations. Just lines and shapes and dreams.
She was halfway through shading a cluster of wildflowers when a shadow fell across her page.
"Mind if I join you?" Eli's voice asked.
She looked up and smiled. "Sure."
He plopped down beside her, pulling his camera from around his neck. For a few minutes, they sat in easy silence—her sketching, him adjusting his lens, both simply existing in the same peaceful space.
After a while, Eli turned his camera toward her. "Can I?"
Lily hesitated. She wasn't made up. She wasn't posed. She wasn't prepared.
But she nodded.
The camera clicked softly as Eli captured her mid-laugh, mid-sketch, mid-living.
"You're really talented," he said, glancing at her sketchbook. "Like… ridiculously so."
Lily shrugged, smiling shyly. "I just draw what I feel."
"That's the best kind of art."
They talked about everything and nothing. Favorite songs. Embarrassing childhood moments. Dream travel destinations. It felt effortless—like two streams converging naturally into one river.
"You know," Eli said, as the sun dipped lower, "I've been thinking about that song you sang last night."
"Yeah?"
He nodded. "It was more than just a performance. It was… a declaration."
"A declaration of what?"
"Of strength," he said simply. "Of choosing yourself. Of not letting anyone else define you."
Lily blinked rapidly, caught off guard by the lump forming in her throat.
"You should keep doing that," he continued. "Not just in music. In everything."
She swallowed. "It's hard sometimes."
"I know," Eli said. "But it's worth it."
As the sky melted into pink and gold, Lily felt something stir deep inside her. A tiny voice whispering: Maybe you can do this. Maybe you already are.
When they finally parted ways that evening, Lily felt lighter. Stronger. Braver.
The next morning, she found a handwritten note slipped under her door.
It was from Eli.
"You don't have to blaze alone. –E"
Tucked beneath the note was a small USB drive. Curious, Lily plugged it into her laptop. A single file loaded: a piano instrumental, soft and raw and beautiful. The melody ebbed and flowed like a heartbeat, tentative but full of hope.
Listening, she realized—Eli had composed it.
For her.
Tears welled in her eyes, but this time, they weren't from sadness or longing.
They were from the overwhelming feeling of being seen.
Of being valued not for what she could change about herself, but for what she already was.
She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.
Tomorrow, she'd sign up for the showcase auditions.
Not to prove anything to anyone.
But to celebrate herself.
Her messy, radiant, perfectly imperfect self.
And somewhere deep in her bones, Lily knew:
This was just the beginning.
The sign-up booth for the Winter Showcase sat just outside the Student Center, decorated with glittery banners and thick sheets of white paper where performers could write their names.
It should have been easy—just a quick scribble of her name. But Lily stood frozen, pen hovering, heart pounding.
A group of girls leaned against the next table over, all tight jeans and laughter that cut sharper than necessary. Lily recognized them vaguely—sorority types, always perfect, always watching.
She tried to ignore them. She tried to focus. Just sign up. Just breathe.
But then came the whispers, loud enough for her to hear.
"God, is she seriously signing up to sing?"
"She's brave, I guess. I wouldn't, not with... you know."
A stifled giggle.
"Maybe it's, like, a charity thing. Let the big girls have a moment."
The words hit harder than any slap. Lily's hand trembled. She capped the pen without writing anything and turned away, willing herself not to cry, not here, not in front of them.
Eli was waiting nearby, camera slung over his shoulder. His smile faltered the moment he saw her face.
"Hey," he said, stepping toward her. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, brushing past him. "I just… I changed my mind."
"Lily—"
"Drop it, Eli."
She didn't wait for his reply. She just walked faster, heart hammering in her ears, throat burning.
For the next few days, Lily became a ghost.
She skipped meals at the dining hall. Stopped answering Jess's texts. Ignored knocks on her door.
Even music, once her refuge, felt poisoned. Every lyric, every beat, reminded her of what she'd almost had—and how easily it had been snatched away.
She barely left her bed. Some days, she didn't even open her curtains.
Jess tried first, leaving little notes under her door:
You are loved. You matter. Let's watch a K-drama tonight?
Then Jasmine came by with a chai latte and a hug she never got to give.
Even Eli knocked once, twice, three times.
"Lily," he said through the door, voice low. "You don't have to talk. Just… let me sit with you."
Silence answered him.
Eventually, they stopped trying so hard—at least on the outside.
And Lily hated herself for it.
She hated the way she let a few cruel words undo everything she'd fought for.
She hated that old voice in her head whispering, See? You're still not enough. You'll never be enough.
She cried into her pillow some nights until there was nothing left.
One evening, as the sun set in a brilliant smear of orange and purple, someone knocked again.
She expected it to be Jess. Or Jasmine.
But it was Eli.
And this time, he didn't leave.
He sat outside her door. She could hear him shift, clearing his throat.
"Lily," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "I get it. I really do. When you start believing the worst things about yourself… it's like quicksand. You sink before you even realize you're in too deep."
Inside, Lily hugged her knees tighter to her chest, pressing her forehead against them.
"But here's the thing," Eli continued. "Those girls? Those people? They don't know you. They only see what they want to mock because it makes them feel better about their own emptiness. They're cowards."
His voice broke slightly.
"And if you let them steal your light, Lily… if you hide again... they win. And you lose everything you've fought for."
She squeezed her eyes shut. His words pierced places she thought were long dead.
"You're not just a voice," Eli said. "You're not just a body or a face. You are art. You are fire. You are every damn melody that was ever too beautiful for the radio."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"And I…" His voice cracked again. "I need you to remember that. Even if you hate me for pushing you. Even if you never open this door."
For a long moment, there was only the sound of her own breathing, ragged and uneven.
Then, without meaning to, without planning it, Lily crawled across the room.
She opened the door.
Eli stood up so fast he almost stumbled. His eyes widened at the sight of her—disheveled, tear-streaked, but there.
Lily didn't say anything. She just clutched the front of his jacket and buried her face against him, the sobs ripping out of her like a storm she couldn't hold back anymore.
Eli wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. Solid. Unmoving.
"You're okay," he murmured into her hair. "You're okay. Let it out."
And she did.
All the pain, the shame, the fear.
All the weight of years trying to make herself smaller, invisible.
She cried until her legs gave out, and Eli gently guided her to the floor, never letting go.
At some point, Jess and Jasmine found them. They didn't interrupt. They just sat with her, silent sentries, letting Lily know without words that she wasn't alone
That night, Lily finally slept.
Not out of exhaustion.
Out of release.
And when she woke up the next morning, the first thing she felt wasn't fear.
It was determination.
Bruised. Shaky. But alive.
For the first time in days, she pulled back her curtains and let the sunlight pour in.
And somewhere deep inside, a melody stirred—unfinished but waiting.
Waiting for her.