The days grew heavier.
Talent Night loomed like a curtain waiting to fall, and though Maya told herself it was just another school event -- something routine, forgettable, overhyped -- her stomach twisted with each new rehearsal.
There were whispers now, full sentences that hissed between locker rows and library corners.
"You think it's all for show?"
"Maybe she's using him back."
"Or maybe they're actually into each other?"
Maya had grown used to silence. But now, it echoed with meaning. Each look, each stare, followed her through the halls. When she walked beside Damien, people moved aside. When she wasn't with him, they speculated.
She didn't bother correcting any of it.
Because truthfully, she didn't know what was true anymore.
Damien hadn't changed much outwardly -- still mysterious, observant, his words few and pointed -- but the way he looked at her had started to press against her defenses. Like he was trying to peel her open with just his eyes. Like he already knew what was underneath.
That was the problem.
She wasn't even sure what was underneath anymore.
---
"Lift your chin," Damien said quietly from behind his canvas.
She obeyed without hesitation this time.
He nodded. "Good."
They were rehearsing after school, again, just the two of them. The auditorium was dim except for the harsh glow of stage lights, and the space between them hummed with quiet energy.
He painted. She sat. Their new rhythm.
The silence was never awkward. It was charged. Like they were saying more through quiet than anyone else did through words.
But today, something felt different.
Maya broke the stillness. "You're painting me again."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He didn't stop. "Because you're still changing."
Her voice dropped, more hesitant. "Changing into what?"
He glanced at her. "Into someone who doesn't need to ask that."
She let that settle between them.
Then said, softly, "What if I liked who I was before?"
Damien looked up from his canvas, his expression unreadable. "Then why did you let him ruin her?"
The breath hitched in her throat.
That wasn't fair.
And yet, she didn't answer.
Because somewhere deep inside, she feared he was right.
---
Outside the auditorium, Brielle leaned against the wall, arms crossed, glossy lips twisted in amusement. She watched like she was observing a predictable soap opera. Maya recognized her immediately -- Brielle Torres, Logan's current girlfriend, and the queen bee of social media drama. With a reputation for backhanded compliments and power games, Brielle wore confidence like perfume -- strong, sweet, and always just a bit too much.
When Maya exited later that evening, sweat slick on her back and heart slightly unsteady, Brielle didn't move.
"Looks exhausting," Brielle said, examining her nails. "Pretending to be interesting for someone with a paintbrush fetish."
Maya didn't pause. "Coming from someone whose boyfriend cheats with anything that blinks, I'll take my chances."
That earned her a pause.
Brielle's smile sharpened. "Just remember: guys like him? They don't fix broken girls. They frame them."
Maya walked on, but the words dug in. Not because they were true. But because they reminded her how everyone still saw her.
As the broken girl.
---
In class the next day, Logan sat two rows behind, brooding like a storm cloud. Maya didn't bother looking at him. She'd stopped trying to decipher the twisted knots in her chest every time he was near.
But even without turning, she felt his gaze. Hot. Sharp. Restless.
Later, as students funneled out, she caught his voice low behind her.
"You think he's different?"
She turned.
Logan's eyes were tired. His jaw was tight.
"You think he sees you?" he asked again.
Maya raised a brow. "He doesn't need to. I see myself now."
Logan scoffed, stepping closer. "So it's true. You're falling for it. The spotlight, the rehearsals. Him."
"Maybe I'm just done falling for you," she said simply.
He blinked.
Her words didn't shout. They sliced.
And she left him standing there.
---
That afternoon, Damien was waiting near her locker. He handed her something without a word: a folded sketch.
She opened it slowly.
It was her.
But not the Maya from yesterday. Or even from rehearsal. It was raw, unpolished. Her eyes were defiant. Her mouth slightly parted like she was caught mid-truth.
"Is this supposed to flatter me?" she asked.
"It's not for flattery. It's for memory."
"What memory?"
"The moment before you let go of who he made you."
Her hand clenched around the paper. "You really think you know everything about me."
"I know how it feels to be haunted by what someone almost made you."
That silenced her.
Because for once, he wasn't analyzing her -- he was revealing a sliver of himself.
And it felt… unfair. Unsettling.
Unfamiliar.
---
Friday.
Final rehearsal.
The auditorium buzzed with energy. Lights flickered overhead. Teachers barked last-minute cues. Microphones crackled. And through it all, Maya felt like she was walking through a dream she hadn't agreed to star in.
Other students whispered as she passed.
Some looked impressed.
Some looked skeptical.
Most looked curious.
Damien was already backstage, talking to the tech crew. When he spotted her, he gave a single nod, and something tight in her chest released.
They ran the sequence again.
Spotlight. Pose. Silence. Paint.
But this time, when she sat under the light, she didn't sit like she was being watched.
She sat like she owned the stage.
And for a moment, the room hushed.
Even the tech crew stared.
Afterwards, as the lights dimmed and the others filtered out, Damien approached.
"You've stopped hesitating," he said.
"I'm learning."
He hesitated. Then, "What are you learning?"
"That I like how it feels when I'm not afraid of how they see me."
He nodded slowly. "Good. You're almost ready."
"For what?"
He didn't answer.
But something in his silence made her spine straighten.
---
Later, she returned to the auditorium alone. She wasn't even sure why. Maybe to breathe. Maybe to remember that this was still real.
She wandered to the canvas.
Uncovered.
She paused.
It wasn't her anymore.
It was something beyond her. A version she didn't recognize yet. Bold. Still. Fierce.
And in the lower corner, Damien had painted something new:
A shadow behind her.
Faint. Undefined. Watching.
She didn't know what it meant.
Not yet.
But she wasn't afraid of it either.
---
The next morning, the school was buzzing.
Talent Night was hours away.
Logan didn't speak to her, but his eyes followed her everywhere.
Brielle posted a cryptic story online: "A muse is just a moment. Don't forget that."
Maya didn't reply. Didn't flinch.
She walked through the halls like she wasn't a rumor anymore.
Like she was becoming something else.
Something untouchable.
And Damien? He never said much.
But when she met his eyes from across the hall…
He smiled.
And for the first time…
She almost smiled back.