I watched them climb into a cab—Mom settling in first, Young Aria following right after her.
Her face was pressed against the window, but I knew that look.
She was thinking.
Overthinking, actually.
Take it from me—because I was her once, and now I'm the version of her who finally understands things she couldn't.
She was replaying Mom's words in her head, trying to decide if they mattered… or if she could ignore them.
"By being yourself and not a copy of someone.."
That sentence was stuck to her like glue. She didn't fully understand it yet—because bit by bit, she was losing sight of who she had been before Evelora became everything.
But those words cracked something deep inside her.
Not enough to change her… but enough to make her wonder.
I felt the shift—small, fragile, but real.
Young Aria was caught between pride and confusion, between who she wanted to be and who she kept pretending to be.
It was then the cab driver turned on the radio—
and as if fate had a sense of humor, one of Evelora's songs began to play.
Young Aria and Mom exchanged a glance.
Just one glance.
Then they burst into the chorus together, laughing like it was karaoke night in the back of a moving cab.
By the time they got home, their voices were still warm with the song.
They both went to freshen up.
Young Aria slipped into a cute outfit, smoothing the fabric with the seriousness only a child trying to be grown can have.
Then she walked to her drawer.
After digging through old ribbons, papers, and forgotten trinkets, she found it—the small book she always kept hidden from Mom.
She sat on her bed and opened it slowly.
Inside were the notes she wrote when she was seven, written in crooked letters, full of determination and innocence.
She read them like someone trying to remember a promise:
BECOMING EVELORA
Ever since Daddy left, Mommy has been sad.
But when she talks about Evelora or sings her music, she smiles again.
So if I want Mommy to smile every day,
I just have to be like Evelora.
I have to do things the way she did.
I can make Mommy happy. I know I can.
Golden rules
1. Smile even when I'm scared.
2. Don't cry in front of people.
3. Talk nicely and softly like Evelora.
4. Stand straight so Mommy can be proud.
5. Learn how to sing, so I can sing for mom.
6. Never make mistakes. Mistakes make people forget you.
7. Make everyone happy first. Me later.
8. Be brave on stage, even if my tummy hurts.
9. If Mommy is sad, hug her right away.
10. Try every day to be perfect just like....
She didn't get to finish reading.
The door creaked open.
Mom stepped into the room.
Young Aria's entire body tensed I instantly felt it again. She snapped the book shut and shoved it behind her back — too fast, too obvious.
Mom noticed instantly.
She walked in quietly and sat on the edge of the bed.
"What's wrong, sweetie? You've been acting differently ever since we talked about Evelora," Mom asked gently.
"Nothing… I was just thinking," Aria whispered, eyes lowered.
"You sure, you're okay?" Mom asked again, softer this time.
"Yes," Aria said — quick, clipped, defensive.
Mom sighed, not convinced but not wanting to push too hard.
"Okay," she said softly. "I won't force you. Dinner is ready."
Aria nodded silently, her gaze still fixed on the floor. Mom stepped back, casting one last glance at her before quietly leaving the room. At last, Aria could breathe. The book rested on her bed, closed yet full of unspoken weight.
Her fingers lingered on its cover, tracing the memories etched within. I could feel it too—the stirring, fragile seed of something that had taken root years ago, growing quietly, painfully, yet undeniably real.