Elara stood frozen, the vibrant hum of the gallery fading to a distant murmur. Ms. Evelyn Reed's words, "exclusive interview" and "Faces of the Future," still echoed in her ears, but now they clashed with the heavy silence emanating from her parents. She looked at them again. Her mother's face was tight, her eyes narrowed with a mix of shock and clear disapproval. Her father's jaw was clenched, a familiar sign of his rigid anger.
Professor Sharma approached her, sensing the shift. She gave Elara a quick, encouraging glance, then subtly moved away, giving them space. The subtle scent of pine and damp earth, Kael's invisible encouragement, felt faint, struggling to break through the sudden coldness in the air.
Taking a deep breath, Elara forced herself to walk towards them, her steps feeling heavier with each one.
"Elara," her mother began, her voice low and sharp, barely a whisper, yet it cut through the gallery's gentle hum. "What is the meaning of this? Vanguard magazine? And these... these are your pictures? Why did you hide this from us?"
Her father's voice was a stern growl. "We thought you were focusing on your Marketing degree, Elara! This is absolutely ridiculous! A 'primary model' for an art project? This is not a future, Elara. This is a childish fantasy!"
Elara felt the familiar cold dread creep up her spine. This was it. The wall. The absolute refusal to see. She instinctively wanted to shrink, to make herself smaller, to disappear. But Kael's voice, "Don't dim your light for anyone," echoed in her mind, a defiant whisper against their harshness.
"Mom, Dad," she began, her voice trembling slightly, but holding firm. "This isn't a fantasy. This is a job. I'm working with Professor Sharma on 'Unseen Echoes' – it's a real project, and Vanguard magazine wants to feature me. This is what I love. This is what I want to do."
Her mother's eyes hardened. "Love? Elara, love does not pay the bills! You have a scholarship for Marketing, a chance for a practical, stable life. We have worked too hard for you to throw it away on this... this frivolous pursuit! We forbid it!"
"Frivolous?" Elara felt a surge of unexpected anger, a heat rising in her cheeks. "Is pursuing what makes me happy frivolous? Is trying to make a difference, to show different kinds of beauty, frivolous?"
Her father stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You will not speak to your mother like that. We know what's best for you, Elara. We raised you. We sacrificed for your education. You are to finish your Marketing degree. This modeling nonsense stops now. It is a foolish dream that will lead to nothing but disappointment. No one accepts girls like you in that world, Elara. You need to face reality."
His words, "girls like you," stung more than anything else. It wasn't just about her height; it was about her entire being, her dreams, being dismissed as fundamentally flawed, unrealistic.
"But Professor Sharma accepted me!" Elara insisted, desperate for them to see. "And Ms. Reed from Vanguard! They see something in me! They don't care about my height! They care about my presence, my expression!"
"They are leading you astray!" her mother snapped, her voice rising slightly. "They are filling your head with foolish ideas. You are to stop all this immediately. You will apologize to Professor Sharma, withdraw from this 'project,' and focus entirely on your studies. Do you understand?"
Elara stared at them, the truth settling deep in her heart. They wouldn't understand. Not now, maybe not ever. Their love was a cage of fear, a desire for control disguised as care. There was no reaching them in this moment. The gallery, once a place of triumph, now felt stifling, suffocating under the weight of their disapproval.
"I... I won't," Elara whispered, the words barely audible, but firm. "I won't stop."
Her parents stared at her, their faces a mixture of disbelief and fury. Her mother's lips thinned into a hard line. "Then there will be consequences, Elara. Serious consequences. You will regret this."
They turned abruptly, walking away, their backs rigid, disappearing into the crowd without another word. Their departure left a cold void, colder than any lecture, heavier than any physical blow.
Elara stood there, alone again, the exhilarating high of moments before completely shattered. The laughter of her college friends, Mark's condescending advice – they all flooded back, amplified by the fresh wound of her parents' rejection. She felt utterly heartbroken, lost, and profoundly alone in the very place where she had just experienced her greatest triumph.
She stumbled out of the gallery, the night air a sharp contrast to the heated conversation. Her eyes blurred with tears, hot and stinging. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling, desperate for the only anchor she knew.
Elara_Dreams: Kael! It was horrible! They saw everything! They yelled at me! They said I was foolish, that I'd regret it! They want me to stop everything! They cut the threads, Kael! They cut them all! I don't know what to do!
She hit send, pressing the phone against her tear-stained cheek. The world felt like it was crumbling around her, her beautiful tapestry torn to shreds by the very people who were supposed to support her. The magic of the invisible threads felt fragile, almost nonexistent, in the face of such crushing, real-world opposition. She just needed Kael. She needed him to tell her that it wasn't over, that her dreams weren't truly broken.