Tangled Strings

Chapter 12: Rora's Advice

The band was in a rare lull between rehearsals, a brief break during which the usual noise of clashing drumsticks and guitar riffs fell silent. The sun had begun to set outside the windows of the practice room, casting a warm, golden glow across the floor.

Rora, always the calm in the storm, sat on the edge of one of the chairs in the back corner, absentmindedly tuning her guitar. Chiquita leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over her chest. Despite the warmth in the room, a cold knot of frustration had settled deep in Chiquita’s gut.

She had been this way for the past few days: distant, distracted, detached. Rora had noticed. Everyone had. But unlike the others, who tiptoed around Chiquita, unsure of how to approach her, Rora had always been the one to see through the façades—the one who truly understood.

“Chiquita,” Rora’s voice cut through the silence, soft but knowing.

Chiquita’s eyes flickered to her, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to talk about it, not with Rora, not with anyone. The words—moving on, letting go—felt too heavy in her mouth. She wasn’t ready to admit the truth to herself, let alone to anyone else.

Rora, however, wasn’t about to let her escape so easily. She had seen the signs. The way Chiquita had been throwing herself into random distractions—anything to avoid thinking about Ahyeon. She had witnessed the small moments of pain that flickered in Chiquita’s eyes whenever someone mentioned the student council, or worse, when Ahyeon’s name was brought up.

“Talk to me,” Rora insisted, not bothering to ask for permission. “You know you can.”

Chiquita shifted uncomfortably, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her guitar. She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about, Rora. It’s fine.”

But Rora wasn’t fooled. “You’ve been fine for days now. You’ve been saying that a lot. Maybe you should stop pretending.” Her voice was quiet, almost too soft for Chiquita to truly protest. “You’re hurting, and I can see it.”

The words hit Chiquita harder than she expected, not because she wasn’t used to hearing them, but because, for the first time, someone was acknowledging it in a way that didn’t feel like pity. It felt like understanding.

She swallowed hard, feeling the lump in her throat rise. But she forced herself to speak, keeping her voice light and dismissive. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll get over it.”

Rora raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Chiquita… we both know that’s not true. This thing with Ahyeon, it’s been going on for months. You can’t just… sweep it under the rug. Eventually, you’ll break, and I’m not sure you’ll be able to put yourself back together the way you think you will.”

Chiquita shifted uncomfortably, her gaze wandering to the floor. She had never been one to be vulnerable with anyone, least of all Rora, who had always been the one to keep her emotions in check. But Rora’s words, spoken with such quiet conviction, had a way of making Chiquita feel exposed, raw.

“I don’t need saving,” she muttered, but there was no fire behind it. “I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Rora stood up slowly, moving over to where Chiquita was standing, her presence calm but firm. She rested a hand lightly on Chiquita’s shoulder. “This isn’t something you should just deal with. You’re in love with her, Chiquita. And I’m telling you—there’s no moving on unless you let it go. Really let it go.”

The words felt like a blow, but a necessary one. Chiquita flinched, her gaze darting to the side, as if avoiding Rora’s eyes would somehow make the truth vanish. She didn’t want to hear it.

Love. Letting go. Moving on.

She had heard those words so many times before, always from well-meaning friends who had no idea what it was like to love someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—love her back. The thought of releasing Ahyeon, of giving up the small glimmers of hope she’d been holding onto, made her feel like she was suffocating.

“Why is it so hard?” Chiquita whispered, almost to herself.

Rora let out a sigh, her voice softer now. “Because you think there’s still a chance. You’re holding onto something that isn’t real, and it’s tearing you apart.”

Chiquita bit her lip, the sting of the truth settling deep within her chest. She wanted to deny it. To argue. To insist that she wasn’t weak enough to let her feelings destroy her. But Rora was right. She had been holding onto something for far too long—a hope, a wish, an impossible dream—that perhaps one day, Ahyeon would look at her the way she had always wanted.

But it wasn’t going to happen.

She had already seen it—the cold dismissals, the cruel words, the distance. Ahyeon wasn’t interested in her. She never had been.

And yet, every time Chiquita tried to pull herself away, the pull toward Ahyeon was like gravity, pulling her back in, making it impossible to escape.

Rora gave her a small, knowing smile. “I’m not saying it’s easy. It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you have to make the choice. You either let go, or you keep holding onto something that’s only going to keep hurting you.”

Chiquita looked up at Rora, her heart thudding in her chest. The advice was simple, and yet, it felt impossible. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t know how to begin. How do you let go of something that has consumed you for so long?

“I don’t know how,” Chiquita admitted quietly, her voice raw.

“You don’t have to know how. You just have to start. Slowly. One step at a time. Focus on the things that make you happy—the band, your music, your friends. It won’t fix everything overnight, but it’s the only way forward.” Rora’s tone was patient, but it carried a weight of experience that Chiquita couldn’t ignore.

“I’ll try,” Chiquita said softly, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. The idea of letting go was terrifying, like losing a piece of herself. She had wrapped her entire identity around this unrequited love for Ahyeon, and to release it felt like erasing a part of her history, a part of her soul.

But maybe Rora was right. Maybe the first step toward healing was to stop pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. To face the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

“Don’t try,” Rora said firmly. “Just do it. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chiquita nodded, grateful for Rora’s unwavering support. But as Rora left the room, her words hung in the air, like an anchor that refused to let go.

Let go.

It was so much easier said than done. But maybe, just maybe, Rora was right.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.