Alvia's POV

Zen's eyes had grown dark under the weight of his guilt. Occasionally, I’d catch the haunted look on his face, the way his fingers would tighten as if holding back an unspeakable terror. I knew what plagued him—nightmares of my orphanage in flames, with me trapped inside. The echoes of that guilt were louder than any apology he could offer, so instead of letting it fester, we made the decision together. By mid-semester of our tenth grade, therapy became a shared ritual, a safe space where we untangled the knots of our shared trauma. It was a step forward, a silent promise that we would carry each other through the dark corners of our minds.

Life outside therapy took on a vibrant rhythm. Our teenage band grew from casual practices to spirited performances, each show bringing us closer to the dreams that once felt so distant. Academically, we soared, pushing ourselves with the same intensity that drove our music. With newfound financial stability from our gigs, we could afford small indulgences—weekend outings to amusement parks, picnics by the river, and even planning weekend trips that gave us a taste of freedom.

One warm afternoon, golden light spilled into our classroom, casting a glow over the desks that filled the room. The chatter of students hummed in the background, punctuated by laughter and the occasional squeak of chairs as friends leaned in to share stories. The chalkboard, still dusted with remnants of the morning’s lessons, stood as a backdrop to the energy that buzzed within the four walls.

Suddenly, the classroom door flew open with a bang. Rester, breathless and flushed with excitement, burst into the room. His eyes were wide, his smile infectious, and the sudden interruption drew every pair of eyes toward him.

“You won’t believe this!” he exclaimed, rushing to my desk and slamming his hands down, causing the wooden surface to rattle. The sun glinted off his hair, adding to the rush of excitement that followed him in.

Sora and I exchanged quick glances before looking up at him, curiosity piqued. In seconds, the rest of our friends gathered around, creating a tight circle that buzzed with anticipation.

“What is it?” Jetto asked, his brows furrowed in curiosity.

Rester’s grin widened as he pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and slapped it onto my desk. The sound drew a gasp from a few nearby classmates, who paused their own conversations to watch the scene unfold.

“We got a huge gig! A concert! We’re asked to hold a concert in the central hall!” His voice shook with excitement, and the sheet crinkled under our eager fingers as we passed it around. The realization hit us in waves, each face lighting up as the news sank in. Soon, the room erupted in cheers, classmates clapping and shouting their support. The warmth of their enthusiasm enveloped us, a surge of adrenaline that made my heart pound with exhilaration.

We didn’t waste a moment. The rest of the day was a blur of plans and practice, each of us falling into our roles with practiced ease. I took my place behind the drum kit, the familiar weight of the sticks in my hands grounding me. Emo adjusted the strap of her bass guitar, her eyes glinting with determination. Subaru tested a few chords on his guitar, fingers dancing over the strings. Zen, the genius behind our arrangements, sat in the corner, headphones on, fine-tuning the final touches. Jetto ran through his rap lines, voice sharp and confident. Rester and Erano, our lead singers, harmonized effortlessly, their voices weaving together like threads of gold. Sora warmed up at the piano, fingers brushing the keys as if whispering secrets to them.

Our dancers, Sean, Akihiko, Asahi, Yu, Elicy, Min, Iwaisimi, and Harumi, practiced their choreography with synchronized perfection, their movements a testament to hours of dedication. Shane and Himura showed up just as the sun dipped behind the city skyline, their faces flushed with excitement. They carried handmade light sticks and fans plastered with our photos, their eyes sparkling with pride. It was embarrassing, and we laughed at the sight of our grinning faces waving back at us from their makeshift banners. But it was also touching, a reminder that we were surrounded by friends who believed in us.

When the concert finally began, the central hall buzzed with energy. The audience was a sea of waving light sticks and eager faces. The moment my drumsticks tapped the first beat, the world fell away. The music surged, a living force that connected us all. Rester and Erano’s voices soared over the crowd, Jetto’s rap electrified the space, and the dancers moved like a wave that kept the rhythm alive.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ray in the wings, a proud grin stretched across his face as he cheered us on. The lights blurred as I focused on the steady thrum of the drums, a heartbeat that anchored me to this moment. And then, amid the rush of adrenaline, Rena’s voice echoed in my mind, soft and bittersweet:

We don’t belong here. And I loved being friends with you, even if it was just for a while.

A lump formed in my throat, but I pushed through, playing for her, for us, for the friends who couldn’t be here. The song came to an end, the final note hanging in the air like a whispered promise. The applause thundered through the hall, and as we took our bows, I knew that we were no longer just survivors—we were living, breathing, moving forward. Together.