Strings of the heart

Chapter 3: The First rehearsal

I was exhausted when I finally got home that night — covered in glitter, glue, and bits of pink tissue that refused to come off my uniform. After dinner, I collapsed on my bed, staring at the ceiling, still smiling at the memory of our finished Vesak lantern. The golden glow of it still warmed my chest.

My laptop blinked on my desk.

I sighed, rolled out of the bed and opened my email out of habit.

Probably empty.
Probably another disappointment.
I tapped refresh.

And.. froze.

There's a new mail I haven't opened, I clicked on it.

Congratulations !
You havw been selected as a 2nd violinist for the National Youth Orchestra. Your 1st rehearsal will be on tomorrow, 21st of November.............

My breath vanished.

I straightened up, staring at the words, rereading them again and again, needing to feel them settle into reality. My hands were shaking as I covered my mouth.

I got in.

I refreshed my email again and again until my eyes ached from staring at the screen. All the excitement from the message filled me with an overwhelming happiness, mingled with the nervousness about the start of rehearsals tomorrow.

And yet… it wasn’t just that. There was something deeper stirring inside me—a longing, a hope. The hope of seeing those glittering eyes again. The hope that the stranger with the beautiful, mesmerizing eyes would return to my life.

***

Morning came too fast.

My hands trembled the entire bus ride.
Not violently — just enough for me to keep pressing my violin case closer to my chest like a shield.

When I stepped into the auditorium, the world burst into sound.

Chairs clattered.
Someone laughed too loudly.
A trumpet played a scale for no reason.
Cellos tuned in long, warm strokes.
Woodwinds chirped like impatient birds.

The hall felt different from the audition — not tense, but alive.
Alive in a way that made my heart thrum in rhythm with the noises.

And then—

“Anaya! You made it!”

I turned.

Nethmi.

My oldest friend.
My forever partner-in-everything.

She wore her usual ponytail and bright hair ribbon — but the brightness didn’t quite reach her smile.
She hugged me, but loosely.
Like something inside her was pulling back.

“You didn’t tell me you auditioned!” she said.

“You didn’t tell me you were already a member,” I teased.

Her eyes flicked away. “Yeah… I’ve been here for a while.”

Her voice was flat. Not cold, but… muted.

I didn’t know what to make of it.

We took our seats in the second violins. I arranged my music stand, trying to ignore the tightness in my throat. My fingers felt clumsy. My bow hand wobbled.

“Relax,” I whispered to myself.

Then the room quieted.

The air shifted.

And he walked in.

I recognized him immediately — before my brain could even form the thought.

The boy with the glittering eyes.

Except… he wasn’t a boy.

He was older — maybe late twenties.
Tall. Calm. Quietly confident.
The kind of presence that made the entire hall pull inward.

He stepped up to the conductor’s stand and set his baton down gently.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “Before we begin, I want to introduce myself properly.”

My breath caught.

“I’m Rohan Abeysekara,” he continued. “Your conductor for this season.”

***