The next morning, Lila woke before the sun had fully risen. Her dorm room was quiet, the pale light of dawn slipping through the curtains. The events of yesterday weighed on her chest, but there was something she hadn't had the courage to admit: a tiny spark of hope.
If she could just find the thing she was meant to do… maybe she could belong. Maybe she could finally be herself.
She trudged to breakfast, her footsteps silent on the polished floors. The cafeteria buzzed with chatter and laughter. Some students waved at friends she didn't know; others whispered, seemingly sharing secrets she couldn't hear. She picked a corner seat and kept her eyes on the tray in front of her, trying to disappear again.
Her first class of the day was music, and though she hadn't enjoyed singing yesterday, she reminded herself that she was giving it another try. The teacher, Ms. Ward, had a kind smile that made Lila's nerves settle a little.
"Today, I want everyone to sing something that inspires them," Ms. Ward said, sweeping the class with her gaze. "It doesn't have to be perfect, just honest."
Lila's throat tightened. She could barely hum a note without feeling like everyone would hear her inadequacy. She opened her mouth, tried a soft note, and froze when she realized it was shaky. She was about to step back when Ms. Ward's voice stopped her:
"Don't stop. Keep going. Feel it, Lila. Let it flow."
She swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried again. This time, the note came smoother, softer, but something in it felt… right. Not perfect, but hers. For the first time, she felt her voice belong to her.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Maybe, just maybe… music could be it.
The rest of the day, she wandered the school, trying club after club. Art again, hoping maybe she had an undiscovered style, but the paint refused to cooperate. Dance was still awkward, though she noticed a slight improvement in her posture and balance. Ballet hurt, singing warmed something in her chest.
By late afternoon, she was exhausted but determined. Maybe she needed to give herself more time. Maybe everyone else seemed perfect because they had already spent years finding their place. She couldn't give up yet—not when she felt that spark of possibility.
Later, she found herself near the auditorium, drawn by a soft melody drifting through the open doors. Curiosity pushed her forward. Inside, a group of students was practicing an orchestra piece. Lila hovered near the back, mesmerized by the harmony of instruments and voices blending together.
Her fingers twitched at her sides. She had never learned an instrument, never thought she could play, but something about the music made her heart ache and soar at the same time. Without thinking, she stepped closer.
One of the students, a girl with braids and a flute tucked under her arm, noticed her. "You're new, right? Want to try?"
Lila froze. She had no idea what to do. Her lips trembled. "I… I don't know how," she admitted.
The girl smiled gently. "We all start somewhere. Everyone does."
Before Lila could protest further, she was handed a violin. Her fingers hesitated on the strings, unsure and stiff. She drew the bow across once, and the sound that emerged was wobbly and uneven.
"It's okay," the girl said. "Try again. Feel it."
Something inside Lila stirred. She tried again, slower, focusing only on the vibrations beneath her fingers. With each stroke, the notes grew clearer, richer, more confident. She felt herself relax, her whole body syncing with the rhythm of the music.
It was as if she had discovered a new part of herself she had never known existed. Her eyes widened as she realized, with a thrill that ran from her chest to her fingertips, that this… this was hers. This was her.
By the time practice ended, Lila's arms were sore and her hair damp with sweat, but she felt alive in a way she had never felt before. For the first time since stepping into Kingsworth Academy, she didn't feel like an outsider. She felt like she had found a piece of herself.
Walking back to her dorm, she kept thinking about the strings, the music, the vibrations that had felt like a voice speaking only to her. Maybe it would take months, maybe years, to get good. Maybe she would still stumble, still fall short sometimes. But she knew one thing for certain: she had a talent, and it was hers alone.
That night, she lay in her bed and replayed the notes in her mind. A quiet smile formed as sleep began to pull her under. Tomorrow, she would try again. And the day after. And the day after that. She would not give up.
For the first time, she felt like maybe… she could belong.
Lila walked through the hallways, her bag slung over one shoulder. She tried to look confident, but her stomach still twisted in knots every time she passed a group of laughing students. Their jokes didn't even have to be about her — she could feel the judgment in their eyes anyway. She shook her head. It's not like I don't try… why doesn't anyone see me?
At lunch, she sat at a quiet corner table, her tray balanced carefully in front of her. She watched her classmates joke, trade notes, and show off their talents. She had tried joining the art club last week, but her painting had been sloppy, her colors awkward. The dance club had laughed at her two left feet. Even singing — the thing she thought might make her shine — had left her voice trembling in embarrassment.
Maybe I'm just… not enough, she thought, poking at her food. The thought was heavy, but strangely familiar. She had been invisible for so long, she wondered if she even had the right to exist here, to try, to hope.
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a slow, steadying breath. Then she opened them and looked around. There were posters on the walls for various school events: music competitions, art exhibitions, talent shows. Something inside her stirred. Maybe… maybe one of these will work. I just need to find where I belong.
After lunch, she wandered toward the music room. The faint sound of piano notes floated down the hall, warm and inviting. She peeked through the window and saw students practicing scales and melodies. Her fingers itched, her heart fluttered. She hadn't sung in front of anyone in weeks, but the piano called to her. Quietly, she slipped inside, hiding near the back.
One of the instructors noticed her and smiled gently. "Hi there! Are you interested in joining?"
Lila swallowed hard. "I… I don't know. I've never been… very good."
The instructor shook her head. "It's not about being perfect. It's about passion. Everyone starts somewhere."
Something flickered inside Lila — a small, warm spark. Maybe it wasn't about impressing everyone else. Maybe it was about finding her own voice.
She lingered for a while, tapping her fingers along the keys, humming softly. It felt… good. Honest. Real. For the first time that day, she didn't feel like she had to hide.
By the time the bell rang for the end of classes, Lila felt lighter, as if a small weight had lifted from her shoulders. She had no idea if she would ever be the best singer, dancer, or artist in the school. But she had found a place where she could be herself, and that was worth everything.