CHAPTER 6: (Shadows in the Spotlight)

Artum's POV

It was supposed to be a celebration.

Our performance video just hit one million views.

Suci was getting calls from youth award organizers, invitations for charity gigs, and even a guesting slot in an online show with her parents' band.

Me?

I was proud of her.

Genuinely.

But I also couldn't ignore the storm quietly brewing inside me.

Because as the world started noticing her, I started disappearing.

Just a little.

At first.

---

The first real punch came from a comment on a viral clip:

> "Artum's lucky to be standing next to her. Let's be honest, she's the star."

Then another:

> "Let's hope she drops the extra weight soon – this guy's holding her back."

I told myself it didn't matter.

Tried to scroll past.

Tried to smile at rehearsals.

But every time she walked into a room and people swarmed her first, a small voice in my head whispered:

> "You're not enough."

That voice?

It sounded just like him.

---

Flashback – Five Years Ago

I was fifteen when I first performed solo in front of my dad.

I'd written an original piece—raw, from the gut.

After I played, I looked at him, desperate for approval.

He sipped his coffee slowly and said:

> "You're okay. Not like your mom. Or like me. But okay."

Okay.

Not good.

Not great.

Just "okay."

That word stuck in my chest like a blade.

Even after he hugged me later.

Even after he said, "You'll get there."

It never left.

---

Present – Suci's POV

I noticed the change in Artum before he said a word.

He smiled less during practice.

Avoided eye contact.

He didn't send me song drafts anymore.

Once, I asked if he wanted to co-write a track, and he replied, "You're better at lyrics anyway."

It stung.

Because that wasn't true.

He was amazing. He just didn't see it.

---

The shift became undeniable the day I was invited to a TV segment.

Solo.

> "Just Suci," the producer said politely. "Your partner's great, but you're the name people recognize."

I wanted to decline.

I wanted to fight it.

But Artum?

He encouraged me.

> "Go. Shine," he said. "This is your moment."

But behind that smile, something in him folded.

Like he was handing me the spotlight and walking into the shadows willingly—even if it crushed him.

---

That Same Night

I found him at the art room, painting.

Alone.

Silent.

The canvas in front of him was dark—muted tones, no color.

> "What's that one about?" I asked softly.

He didn't look up.

> "Noise. Inside."

I sat beside him, close but not too close.

> "You're disappearing on me," I said.

> "No, I'm right here."

> "Not here," I whispered, touching my chest. "Here."

He paused, finally meeting my eyes.

> "It's hard, Su. Watching you rise so fast while I…" He gestured at the painting. "...while I feel stuck."

> "You're not stuck. You're the reason I'm even here."

> "But no one else sees that."

> "I do," I said, firmer now. "You matter. You matter to me."

He blinked fast, as if stopping a tear.

> "I guess it just brings up old stuff. Stuff I haven't dealt with."

---

Later That Week – A Ghost from His Past

We were walking back from a mini gig when someone called out:

> "Artum?"

We turned.

A woman stood there. Mid-20s. Elegant. Holding a violin case.

Her eyes locked on him with a mixture of warmth and pain.

> "Wow. You've grown."

> "Clara?" he asked, voice low.

> "Yeah. I... didn't think I'd run into you again."

He stiffened. I felt him go cold beside me.

I smiled politely. "Hi, I'm Suci."

Clara looked at me, and something flickered in her expression. Then back to him.

> "So... this is her?"

I didn't understand what that meant.

> "I have to go," Clara said quickly. "But you still owe me a goodbye, Art."

She left with a faint smirk and too many unanswered questions in the air.

---

After Clara Left

> "Ex?" I asked quietly.

He nodded.

> "Music partner. We were close. Too close."

> "What happened?"

> "She left. Said I didn't have the ambition. Said I was too slow. Too soft."

> "Ouch."

> "She wasn't wrong."

> "Yes, she was."

> "I used to think I'd never be good enough for someone who wanted to run ahead," he said, eyes on the ground. "And now… I wonder if history's repeating itself."

> "You think I'm like her?" I asked, hurt.

> "No. That's what scares me. You're better. Kinder. You'd never throw me aside. But what if I start believing I deserve to be?"

I reached out, holding his face gently.

> "Don't you dare compare yourself to what broke you. You're not weak. You're healing. That's brave."

And for the first time in days, he let himself cry.

Right there, in front of me.

No music.

No lights.

Just him. And me. And truth.

---

One Week Later – The Invitation

A national youth art-and-music collective emailed both of us.

They wanted us to perform again.

Together.

This time, not for competition.

But for impact.

A charity show for mental health awareness.

We said yes.

And when we got on stage, the world faded.

He played.

I sang.

He painted.

I poured my voice into every lyric.

> ♪ "There are wounds behind the glory

That no trophy ever sees

There's a storm in every artist

Trying hard to just be free…" ♪

We didn't win anything that night.

But when we finished, people stood in silence first.

Then applause.

The loudest yet.

---

After the Show

I looked at him backstage.

> "Did you hear that?"

He nodded, smiling again—really smiling this time.

> "They finally saw me."

> "They finally saw us," I corrected.

---

Later That Night – Suci's Journal Entry

> I used to think the stage was where I'd feel most alive.

But now I know—

It's not the applause that feeds you.

It's the hand that steadies you when the clapping fades.

And I want to be that hand for him.

For as long as he lets me.

---

To Be Continued...