Chapter 6- The silent battle

The applause echoed in my ears, but it didn't drown out the noise inside my head. As I made my way offstage, my hands were shaking. My throat burned from the emotion I poured into every note. But there was also something else—fear. Fear of what my family would say when they found out. Fear of rejection, not from the crowd, but from the people who mattered the most.

I was still trying to catch my breath when I spotted Echo's message lighting up my phone. I almost didn't want to check it, unsure of what I'd find, but something urged me to open it.

"You did it. You were amazing. I knew you could."

I smiled, my heart swelling. Echo's words were like a salve on a wound that hadn't fully healed. They gave me the courage to face whatever was coming, even if that meant facing my family's anger.

As I walked out into the hallway, my heart sank when I saw my mother standing at the door, her arms folded across her chest. Her eyes were narrow, her lips pressed into a tight line.

"Amara, we need to talk."

I froze. Her tone wasn't just angry; it was a warning, a storm waiting to break.

I swallowed hard. "What about?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You know exactly what this is about," she snapped. "You humiliated me tonight. Showing up at a talent show, singing like that. You think this is a joke? This is not who you're supposed to be."

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. "It's not a joke, Mom. I have something to say. I have something I need to do with my life."

"You think you can throw away everything I've worked for?" she retorted. "You want to sing? Fine. But not at the expense of your future." She paused, her eyes burning with frustration. "You've made your choice. Don't come crawling back when you realize how foolish you're being."

I felt the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I looked her in the eye and said, "I'm not throwing anything away, Mom. I'm choosing myself."

Before she could respond, I turned on my heel and walked away, my heart pounding in my chest. I had no idea what was coming next, but in that moment, I knew I had made the right choice.

The tension in the house had been building for weeks. Every day, I felt like I was walking on eggshells, trying to avoid the explosive conversations that I knew would come. My mother's silence was a heavy presence in the house—she would look at me with disappointment, but never say a word. My father, on the other hand, tried to act as though nothing had changed, but I could feel the strain in his every gesture.

I spent hours in my room, writing music, singing, letting the emotions I couldn't express through words spill out in melodies. But even in those moments, a voice in the back of my mind kept asking: What if they're right? What if I'm just chasing a dream that's never going to come true?

One evening, after a particularly difficult rehearsal, I overheard my parents talking in the kitchen. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but their words cut through the silence like a knife.

"Do you really think she'll make it, after all this? She's just a girl from here. This isn't her world," my mother said, her voice trembling with frustration.

"You saw the video, didn't you? People are listening to her. She has talent, but…" My father's voice trailed off. "What if this is just a phase? She's too young to throw everything away."

"I can't just sit back and watch her ruin her future," my mother responded sharply. "She has to understand the consequences. She's already been on stage, now what? She's going to quit school? She's going to let some silly talent ruin everything we've worked for?"

I felt the familiar pang of guilt tighten in my chest. I hadn't meant to hurt them. But I couldn't lie anymore. Music was my world now. It was everything I thought about, everything I breathed.

That night, after their conversation, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, the weight of their doubts pressing on me from every angle. I didn't want to be the rebellious daughter. I didn't want to disappoint them. But I also didn't want to give up on who I was becoming.

In the morning, when I came down for breakfast, I felt the silence in the room like a suffocating blanket. My parents sat across from me, avoiding eye contact.

"Amara," my father began after a long pause. His voice was calmer than it had been before, but it didn't mask the concern I could hear in his words. "Your mother and I want you to think carefully about your future. Music is a wonderful thing, but it's not everything. You need something more to fall back on."

I looked at them, each word feeling like a hammer on my heart. "I don't want to fall back on anything. I want to follow this. Music is all I've ever wanted."

My mother's expression hardened. "Then you can go ahead and make music, but you'll do it with no support from this family. Not unless you show us that you can balance your education with this nonsense."

Her words stung, each one like a slap to my face. But deep down, I knew she wasn't just angry—she was scared. Scared that I was walking away from a stable future, scared that I would fail. And that fear, as painful as it was, made me angry too. I didn't want to be the failure she feared I'd become. But I also didn't want to be the girl who lived in a world of what-ifs.