Gemotions

The concert hall buzzed with anticipation. Elias, backstage, felt a strange detachment. He’d written "Whispers of the Wind" years ago, a song that had unexpectedly resonated with a global audience. Tonight, a renowned orchestra was performing it. He was not keen to be there.

He gripped the edge of the stage door, knuckles white. The conductor, a flamboyant figure he didn't care for, raised his baton. The opening notes began, slightly faster than he intended. Elias scowled.

He refused to let this affect him, though. The tempo was fine. He'd just have to ignore the fact that the violins were playing a bit loud. He had a reputation to uphold. He’d leave before the standing ovation, anyway.