Chapter 57

Chapter 57
Elisa’s POV

The forest was alive late this morning.

Birds chirped high above us, their voices blending with the soft rush of wind through the leaves. It was sunny, the kind of sun that cascades warmth on the skin. The air smelled of damp earth and pine. My heart raced fast, knowing I’d soon be on stage to perform. 

This wasn’t just any competition. This was the moment.

The regional music competition. The day Roman had trained us for. The quarter finals. 

I clutched my violin case tighter as we stepped into the clearing. The stage was a wide wooden platform built right in the middle of the forest. Sunlight broke through the trees and scattered across the grass giving a beautiful sight. 

I beamed with a satisfactory glow. 

Roman walked ahead of us. His black shirt hugged his frame, his hair a little messy from the wind. He looked calm, but I knew him well enough to sense the pressure on him today. This was his first competition as a lead conductor. Winning meant everything to him.

I followed his every move without even meaning to. It was like he pulled me in without trying.

“Elisa, stop staring,” Sylvia’s voice snapped beside me.

I turned quickly. She gave me a smirk. Her lipstick was a bold red, too bright for a college completion like this. She adjusted her skirt and pushed her curls back. Sylvia always made sure everyone noticed her. 

Especially Roman.

I knew for sure.

“I wasn’t staring,” I hissed, rolling my eyes.

She tilted her head. “Sure. But even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. He’s a grown man, Elisa. A professor. You’re just a student.” 

She just taunted. 

I bit the inside of my cheek and kept walking. Her words stung, even though I tried to act like they didn’t. Sylvia doesn’t want to admit the truth. She didn’t know about the long night Roman and I had last night and of course she doesn’t need to do. 

And she never would.

Students from other colleges were already setting up. Some choirs were rehearsing near the stream. A group of guitarists tuned their instruments under a big oak. Everyone looked serious. Eager to win.

“Gather here,” Roman called, his voice hoarse.

We formed a circle around him. My heart fluttered when his eyes landed on me for a brief second. Just one look, but it steadied me.

“This competition is tough,” he began. “But we didn’t come here to shrink. We came to take the trophy, to win by all means possible.”

We nodded.

He gave a brief smile, then turned serious. “I believe in every one of you. We’ve worked hard for this. When you step onto that stage, remember—music isn’t about impressing judges. It’s about making people feel. Do that, and the rest will follow.”

I breathed in slowly. His words always did something to me. They didn’t just motivate; they moved me and I wanted to win this competition. I wanted to win, to make him proud. 

Sylvia raised her hand, pretending to be curious. “Professor Roman, will you be watching us from backstage?”

He nodded. “Of course. I’ll conduct the choir parts.”

Her smile widened like a hunter spotting prey. I could almost see her planning every hair flip and extra wink she’d throw his way.

My stomach tightened.

Roman gave us a final look, nodded once, and walked off to meet the judges. His walk was majestically confident. The judges revered him; I could tell.

When he got out of our sight, Sylvia leaned close to me and whispered, “Watch and see. By the end of today, he’ll only relate with me.”

I ignored her and opened my violin case. My fingers brushed the strings lightly. This wasn’t about her. It was about music. It was about Roman’s dream, and mine too. I felt I could capture and keep Roman’s attention more on me by doing the necessary.

Hours passed as the other colleges performed. Some going exceptional, some average. The entire ecosystem lurked with songs, drums, harmonies, and cheers. The audience sat on logs of wood and on the grass.  The Judges on seats at the center scribbled notes. 

I tried to focus, but Sylvia kept talking about Roman.

“Did you see how he looked at me during warm-up?” she whispered during a break.

“He didn’t,” I replied flatly.

She laughed. “You’re blind then.”

I wanted to walk away, but she was in the same group as me.

When the announcer finally called our college’s name, my legs almost gave out. My heart pounded. This was it. Our turn.

We walked to the stage together. The grass-covered ground creaked softly under my boots. I looked up. The canopy of leaves formed a green ceiling above us, sunlight peeking through like spotlights. It was perfect.

No wonder they asked the competition to be done here. 

Roman stood at the edge, holding his baton. When our eyes met, he gave the smallest nod. No one else noticed. But to me, it was everything.

We took our positions. I stood with my violin ready, near the front. Sylvia was right behind me, in the vocal section. She flicked her hair again. I rolled my eyes.

The audience became silent. Even the birds seemed to pause.

Roman raised his baton. My breath caught.

And then—music.

We began to sing, soft and slow, voices weaving together. I joined in with my violin, my bow gliding over the strings, steady and smooth. The melody built up, filling the space with lyrical sound. 

I lost myself in it. The world faded. There was only the music, Roman, and me.

But Sylvia didn’t stick to the plan.

Halfway through the second verse, she started adding runs—fancy, show-off vocal slides that weren’t in the arrangement. 

“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped but she ignored, keeping on.

We wavered, this wasn’t what we practiced. Roman gave a frown face, his eyes flashing toward Sylvia.

She smiled sweetly back.

I wanted to shout at her, to hit her. She was trying to pull attention to herself. In front of the judges. During our set.

Roman adjusted his tempo slightly, trying to keep everyone together. I followed him closely, tightening my bow strokes. Some of the others recovered. But Sylvia kept pushing. Her voice rose louder than the rest.

The judges glared at each other with shock.

My blood boiled. This wasn’t a solo show. This was our performance.

Roman gave her a warning glare mid-song. She ignored it.

I focused on the music, poured everything into my playing. My hands moved faster, stronger. 

I could feel Roman’s gaze flicking toward me now, steadying. It was like he was saying silently, Don’t lose it. I’m here.

The final chorus arrived. We all lifted our voices and instruments higher. The sound echoed through the forest. For a second, it felt magical again.

And then Sylvia brushed in. 

She walked out of line, like some kind of diva. She threw in a high note that wasn’t in the song at all. It was loud. It was offbeat. It broke the harmony.

The crowd gasped. The choir faltered.

Roman’s baton froze midair.

For a moment, our excellent performance started to go down the drain.

I reacted before I even thought. I stepped forward with my violin and played a fast run that re-centered the melody. The choir caught on quickly. Roman’s eyes locked on mine, filled with shock and something else—pride. 

His baton moved again, guiding us to the finish.

We ended the song on a strong note, but the damage was done. My heart was beating, nervous if we would qualify for the next round with good points. 

The judges whispered among themselves. Sylvia stood there, beaming like she had just saved the day, not almost ruined it.

Roman lowered his baton slowly. His jaw was tight.

The crowd clapped, though less loudly than they had for other colleges. I swallowed hard, my heart still racing.

When we stepped off stage, Sylvia twirled a strand of hair. “I think I killed it out there,” she said.

“You nearly killed the whole performance if not that I stepped in,” I snapped, shutting her out.

She laughed. “Oh, sweet Elisa. You’re just jealous. The judges noticed me. He noticed me.”

She stressed the “he.” 

I clenched my fists.

Roman approached us. His eyes going straight to Sylvia. “What you did up there was not in the arrangement,” he said sharply.

She blinked innocently. “I thought it would make us stand out.”

“It made us look uncoordinated,” he replied coldly.

Then his eyes shifted to me. For a second, everything else disappeared. “That run you did,” he said softly, “saved the piece.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I just reacted.”

He gave me a small, almost secret smile. “You did more than that.”

Sylvia noticed. Her expression darkened.

“Hello, Padre Roman?” I heard the roars of his name from afar. 

The judges called Roman over before he could say more. Fuckkkkk! He gave me one last look before walking away.

Sylvia turned to me slowly. Her voice dropped to a low hiss. “Enjoy your little moment, Elisa. Because after tonight… things are going to change.”

Her words sent a chill through me. She spoke like she got the whole universe under her.