The day my parents say yes does not feel loud. There is no big sound. No clapping. No music. It feels like a door opening very slowly, so slowly that you only notice the air changing.
I am sitting at the kitchen table with my feet tucked under me. The chair is cold because it is morning. Sunlight comes in through the window and lands on the floor in a square. Dust floats inside it.
I watch the dust because it moves even when nothing else does.
My mother is washing fruit at the sink. Water runs and stops and runs again. My father is reading something on his phone, but he hasn't scrolled in a while.
I am peeling a tangerine.
The skin comes off in long pieces. I try to keep them whole. I like it when I can peel it in one long line.
"Yura." My father said.
I look up.
"Yes?"
He puts his phone down on the table. That makes a small sound. It is not sharp. Just firm. My mother turns off the water and dries her hands. She comes to sit with us. They both look at me.
Not like when I am in trouble.
Like when they are checking something carefully.
"We talked." My mother said. I nod. They have been talking a lot these days. Sometimes quietly at night. Sometimes in the car. Sometimes when they think I am busy, but I am listening anyway.
"We're going to let you try." My father said. I stop peeling. The tangerine smells bright in my hands. "Try what?" I asked, even though I know. "One audition." My mother said.
One.
The word feels small and safe.
My chest gets warm, right under my collarbone.
"Okay." I said.
They both wait. I think they expect more. "Okay." I said again, a little louder. My mother smiles. "You don't have to. If you change your mind—" She said. "I want to." I said. My voice comes out fast. They don't interrupt me.
"I like pretending. And I like when people watch." I say. I am not embarrassed to say it. It feels true. My father exhales slowly. Not tired. Just careful.
"That's why we're saying yes." He said.
—
Park Jiwon comes over that afternoon. She does not look surprised. That makes me feel proud, like I did something right. She brings a small bag. Inside are papers and a thin book with pictures. She does not put them on the table right away. She sits first. She looks at my parents.
"Thank you. For trusting me." She said. My mother nods. "We're trusting the process." She said. She accepts that. She always accepts things the way they are said.
I sit between my parents on the sofa. My feet swing, but slower than before.
Park Jiwon looks at me.
"Yura. Do you remember what we talked about?" She said. "Yes." I said. "About stopping if you want to." She said.
"Yes."
"About school coming first."
"Yes."
"About this being just one time."
"Yes."
She smiles. "Good." She said. She opens her bag and takes out the book. It is thin and soft. The pictures show children in different clothes. One is wearing a crown. One is wearing a school uniform. One is holding a teddy bear.
"These are stories. Sometimes, auditions ask you to show a small part of a story." She said. I lean closer. The paper smells new. "Do I have to remember lines?" I asked.
"Sometimes. But for this one, no." She said. That makes me relax. "What do I do?" I asked. "You listen. And you play." She said. I nod. I am good at that.
They talk about the place. It is in a building with many floors.
There is a waiting room. There are other children. I imagine them. I wonder what they look like. I wonder if they like pretending too. "Your parents will be with you the whole time." Park Jiwon said.
I like that.
She does not say it like a promise. She says it like a rule that already exists. "There's no rush. We arrive early. We leave early if we need to." She said.
My mother asks about the time. My father asks about who will be there. Park Jiwon answers everything. She never says "don't worry." She just explains. I like that more.
—
That night, I couldn't sleep right away.
I am not nervous.
My body feels awake, like it does before a school trip. I stare at the ceiling. I imagine a room with chairs. I imagine people sitting quietly. I imagine standing in the middle. I do not imagine making mistakes.
I imagine doing what I always do.
Listening.
Moving.
Stopping.
I roll onto my side and hug my pillow. The pillow smells like my hair. I smile into it.
—
The day of the audition, the sky is pale.
Not sunny. Not cloudy.
Just open.
I wear a simple dress. Blue. Soft. It doesn't itch. My mother ties my hair back, then lets it down again. "Which do you like?" She asked. I think. "Down." I said. She nods. "No bows?" She asked. "No bows." I said.
She smiles.
In the car, Park Jiwon sits in the front seat. My parents are quiet. Not tense. Just focused. I watch buildings pass by. They look taller today.
—
The building smells different. Clean. Cool. The floor is shiny. We check in at a desk. A woman smiles at me and writes my name. "Han Yura." She said carefully. "Yes." I said. She smiles wider. "Please wait." She said.
The waiting room has chairs and a table with magazines. There are other children. Some are older. Some are younger.
One boy is kicking his feet against the chair. His mother tells him to stop. One girl is reading out loud to herself. I sit quietly. I feel eyes on me. Not heavy. Just curious.
Park Jiwon sits a little away from us. Not too close. Not too far.
She watches the room. I watch her watching. When our name is called, it feels like a bell ringing. We stand. My heart bumps once. Then it settles.
—
The audition room is smaller than I imagined. There are three adults inside. They sit behind a table. There is a camera. It is not turned on. That makes me feel better.
"Hello. What's your name?" One of the women asked.
"Han Yura." I said. "Nice to meet you." She said.
They ask me to stand on a mark on the floor. It is tape. Blue. I stand. They ask me to look at them. I do. They smile. "Can you show us how you would greet a friend you haven't seen in a long time?" The man asked
I don't think. I imagine Haeun. I imagine seeing her after summer. My face moves on its own. I smile. I step forward. I wave. "Hi!" I said.
They nod.
"Thank you." They said.
They ask me to sit. Then to stand. Then, to pretend I lost something. Then, to pretend I found it. Each time, I do what feels right. I am not thinking about doing well. I am just doing. When it ends, they thank me.
I bow because it feels polite.
Outside the room, my parents look at me.
"Well?" My mother asked softly. "It was fun." I said. Park Jiwon smiles. That is enough.
In the car on the way home, the city feels the same. Nothing looks different. But my chest feels like it did after the recital. Warm. Full. I look out the window. I see my reflection in the glass. I look back at it.
I don't wave.
I just sit.
And I wait.