Meeting Atalanta 2

The music hall was alive with noise—voices, scattered laughter, and the occasional awkward attempt at harmonizing from the choir students as a girl strolled in like she owned the place, her confidence radiating with every step.

She flashed a quick smile to the group up front, a small wave here, a soft "hey" there. They were used to her by now—the beautiful blonde who didn't seem to care about rules or fitting in. She wasn't part of the choir, but she came in often enough that nobody bothered questioning her. Some of the students even liked her there; she had this calm, observing vibe that made them feel like their messy rehearsals weren't a total disaster.

She moved past them, her eyes scanning the room until she got to the back. Her favorite seat was always open—right near the far wall where the sound of instruments was soft enough to lull her into her thoughts but loud enough to feel alive.

Except today, it wasn't empty.