Chapter 6

Ayleen's POV

The next morning, I wasn’t expecting to see George at the college.

He stood with Serena in the main hallway, looking like he belonged there, even though I knew he didn’t. His arms were crossed, his foot tapping against the tiled floor in a restless rhythm. Serena, on the other hand, looked unbothered, casually scrolling through her phone.

I raised an eyebrow as I approached. "What are you doing here?"

George’s head snapped up the second he spotted me. "Ayleen, we need to figure out rehearsal schedules."

I nodded, but something in his expression made me pause. His shoulders were tense, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something more… hesitant.

"Sure," I said slowly, "but your face tells me there’s… more?"

George let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at Serena like he was looking for backup, but she wasn’t even paying attention.

"Yeah, uh…" His voice lowered, like he wasn’t sure how to say it. "The keyboard you were using? It belonged to Steven. Since we, uh… fired him, we don’t have one for you to play anymore."

I blinked. "Wait—what?"

Serena sighed dramatically, finally pocketing her phone. "Yeah, apparently Steven’s been stringing them along this whole time. The keyboard wasn’t even theirs—it was his. And now that he's out, so is the instrument."

My stomach dropped.

Of course. Just my luck.

I exhaled, pressing a hand to my forehead. This job was important. I needed this job. But now? How was I supposed to play without an instrument?

George winced at my silence. "I know this sucks, Ayleen. If we had the money to buy a new one, we would. But the bar only pays us so much, and even with the new slot, we’re still barely breaking even."

Serena let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "So basically, you guys have nothing to offer her except a pat on the back and a ‘good luck’?"

George shot her a look before turning back to me. "I—look, I can lend you some money," he said, voice careful, like he was testing the waters. "It won’t be much, but maybe enough to help. You can pay me back later."

I hesitated, my stomach twisting.

Borrowing money was never something I liked doing. Especially not from friends. But what other choice did I have? I couldn’t just not play.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

George nodded. "It’s fine. We’ll just deduct it from your pay later."

I bit my lip, still reluctant. But deep down, I knew the answer was already yes.

I didn’t have a choice.

That afternoon, the weight of reality settled heavily on my shoulders. I spent hours scouring the internet, clicking through listing after listing of used keyboards. Most were in rough shape—missing keys, faulty wiring, or held together with duct tape. The kind of junk people sold when they knew they could squeeze a desperate buyer for a few extra dollars. And unfortunately, with the money George offered, I was that desperate buyer.

By the time we went to check them out in person, my stomach was already twisted in knots. The first one had broken pedals, the second had a cracked screen, and the third barely produced sound on half the keys. Finally, we found one that, while far from perfect, was at least functional—aside from a circuit issue that caused a loud buzzing if someone so much as breathed too close to the power cord.

George tested it out, playing a few chords before looking at me with a shrug. “It’s not great, but it’s what we can afford.”

I sighed, staring at it like I could will it into something better. I didn’t have the luxury to be picky. “I’ll make it work.”

The next morning, I walked into class with a little more excitement than usual. At least now I had something to practice on. I nearly ran into Marcus on the way, barely dodging him at the last second.

“Wow, someone’s in a good mood,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I finally got a keyboard!” I beamed. “Now I can rehearse better instead of just relying on the school’s piano.”

Marcus hummed, nodding slowly. “That’s good… Just be careful, Ayleen.”

I frowned. “Careful?”

He glanced around before lowering his voice. “This industry isn’t as kind as you think. And people—especially people like George—will do what they have to do to survive. You’re sweet, but sweet doesn’t last long in this world.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can handle myself, Marcus.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “We’ll see.”

That night at the bar, the keyboard started acting up almost immediately.

The damn buzzing noise kept flaring up, making me flinch every time I got too close to the cord. George ended up taping the wire in place, securing it in a way that looked ridiculous but at least stopped the worst of the interference. Even so, my entire body stayed on edge throughout the performance, terrified that the thing would cut out in the middle of a song.

And, as promised, Clara was there.

But this time, she didn’t come to our table.

She sat further away, draped in the shadows, her usual entourage surrounding her like a human barrier. Yet despite the distance, I could still feel her eyes on me—watching, studying, like she was assessing something only she understood.

At one point, I saw her lean in and murmur something to Marcus. His posture stiffened, his expression turning uneasy. Whatever she said clearly wasn’t casual.

And then, halfway through the show, she left.

I shouldn’t have cared. It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But for some reason, it bothered me.

Did she not enjoy the performance? Had I done something wrong?

The thoughts spiraled in my head all night.

When I finally fell asleep, my dreams were a mess of stage lights, flickering wires, and Clara’s piercing hazel eyes. I woke up in a cold sweat, the sound of imaginary laughter still ringing in my ears.