The auditorium smelled like dust, velvet curtains, and old ambition.
Zen inhaled slowly.
"This is it," he murmured.
Alex stood beside him, clutching a bag of chips. "You say that like you're proposing to the stage."
"It's my first college audition," Zen said. "If I faint, you're morally obligated to catch me."
"I will not. That's character development."
Zen laughed—but his heart was pounding.
He wanted this.
Not fame.
Not applause.
Just the chance to step into someone else for a while.
Someone braver.
⭐ Waiting Room Chaos
Students filled the waiting area—pacing, muttering lines, staring into space.
Zen sat between Alex and a plant that looked like it had given up.
"You ready?" Alex asked.
Zen nodded. Then shook his head. "I think my soul left my body."
"Good. Less weight."
Liya slipped in quietly, spotting him almost immediately.
"Oh—Zen. I didn't know you were auditioning."
"Surprise," he said lightly.
She sat beside him, offering a water bottle.
"You'll do great."
Zen smiled. "Thanks."
He appreciated the encouragement.
But the nerves stayed.
This was something he had to face alone.
⭐ The Audition
"Zen Hart?"
He stood.
Alex whispered, "Go be the main character."
Zen stepped onto the stage.
The lights were blinding. Judges unreadable.
He bowed, centered himself—
and began.
The monologue flowed. Jokes masking pain. Honesty bleeding through humor.
For once, the ache in his chest sharpened his focus instead of distracting him.
When he finished, silence lingered.
"Thank you," one judge said.
Zen exhaled.
⭐ After the Audition
Back in the hallway, Alex looked up. "Well?"
"I survived."
"So you killed it."
Zen laughed.
He didn't know if he'd passed.
But stepping onto that stage had felt… right.
Not familiar.
Not remembered.
Just right. He walked away with full satifcation.
A breeze passed through the courtyard. Zen closed his eyes briefly, soaking in the warmth.
He smiled like he always did—open, bright, unguarded.
And yet, beneath it, a quiet sense of absence lingered.
Something missing.
As Zen smiled under the evening sky, the ache returned — sharper than before.
Success didn't quiet it.
It made it louder.