The weight of the violin felt heavy in Eliza’s hands. She sat backstage, the familiar scent of rosin and wood filling her senses. She and Clara had both applied for the concertmaster position. Eliza's name was on the list; Clara's, not.
She closed her eyes, picturing the countless hours they'd spent together, practicing, rehearsing, and dreaming of the stage. The music room was a haven, the place where they'd first discovered their shared passion for music, the place where they had spent countless hours.
A tap on the door. It was Clara. Eliza felt a wave of anxiety wash over her.
Clara entered, her face carefully composed. “So?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She looked at Clara, at the familiar lines of her face, and knew she was there to support her.
“I got the interview,” Eliza finally managed, her voice cracking slightly. She knew that there was a long journey ahead. She remembered the way Clara had always believed in her, even when she doubted herself.
Clara smiled, a brave, fragile smile. "Congratulations, Eliza."
Eliza felt a lump in her throat, a deep sense of loss for the shared dream. The music in the air felt hollow, and she felt a small, familiar pain.