Chapter 6

The morning light filtered in through the curtains like a whisper—gentle, golden, and much too early.

Megan lay still, eyes open, body heavy beneath the duvet. The room was quiet, save for Lara’s soft breathing from the other bed. It was the kind of silence that felt suspended, like the world was holding its breath.

She hadn’t slept much. After Daniela left the room last night, Megan had stared at the ceiling for hours. Her eyes stung, her chest ached, and her thoughts kept folding over themselves like waves. But even in the exhaustion, something inside her had shifted.

It wasn’t relief. Not exactly. But it was something close.

Her hand reached absently for her journal—but it wasn’t where she left it.

Panic flared in her chest.

Then she remembered. Lara. The confrontation. The soft apology that didn’t quite erase the betrayal

Megan exhaled shakily.

She couldn’t deal with that right now. Not on top of everything else.

She sat up slowly, careful not to wake Lara, and slid out of bed. Her feet touched the cold floor. Her reflection in the mirror looked as worn out as she felt—pale, puffy-eyed, hair tangled from restless tossing.

Still, she pulled on a hoodie and tiptoed toward the door.

Downstairs, the house was mostly quiet.

Except for faint clinking—someone in the ktchen.

She froze at the foot of the stairs, heart thudding.

It was Daniela.

Back to the doorway, hoodie slouched over one shoulder, her long hair pulled into a low bun. She was reaching for a mug from the cabinet, moving like she belonged here.

Of course she did. They all did.

Megan almost turned around. She didn’t know what to say—if she should say anything at all. But then Daniela looked over her shoulder, sensing her presence without needing to hear her.

Their eyes met.

Megan froze.

“Hey,” Daniela said, quiet but steady. Her voice didn’t carry judgment or pity. Just softness.

“Hey,” Megan replied, almost a whisper.

“You sleep okay?”

Megan gave a slow shrug. “I’ve had better nights.”

Daniela nodded. “Same.”

An awkward pause settled between them—not uncomfortable, but charged.

“I made coffee,” Daniela offered, tilting her chin toward the pot. “If you want.”

Megan hesitated, then nodded, stepping further into the room. She took the mug Daniela handed her, their fingers brushing just slightly. A tiny spark lit up in her stomach. She told herself not to think about it.

They drank in silence. Daniela leaned against the counter, Megan sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was familiar, grounding.

But every second stretched thin with the weight of unspoken things.

Lara came downstairs twenty minutes later, hair a mess, hoodie halfway zipped, yawning like the world owed her three more hours of sleep.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw the two of them.

Megan felt her stomach twist.

“Morning,” Lara said cautiously, eyes flitting between them.

“Morning,” Megan replied, guarded.

Daniela just nodded.

Lara grabbed a banana, muttered something about “avoiding another food-fight breakfast,” and retreated back upstairs.

Megan stared into her coffee.

“She’s being weird,” she mumbled.

Daniela snorted. “When is she not?”

Megan smiled faintly, but it faded as fast as it came.

She set the mug down, fingers tightening around the ceramic. “About last night…”

Daniela looked at her, waiting.

“I didn’t mean to fall apart on you.”

“You didn’t,” Daniela said gently. “You just… felt something. That’s not the same.”

Megan swallowed. “Still. You didn’t have to stay.”

Daniela tilted her head, eyes thoughtful.

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to.”

Later that morning, the others trickled into the kitchen one by one—Sophia first, groaning about a dream she couldn’t remember. Then Yoonchae, suspiciously alert for someone so young. Manon last, dragging her blanket behind her like a cape.

No one said anything about Megan and Daniela both already being there.

But they noticed.

Yoonchae’s eyes narrowed slightly. Sophia caught Lara’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. Lara shook her head in warning.

Manon just looked at everyone and said, “Okay, why do I feel like something’s going on?”

Megan tensed, but Lara swooped in with a distraction about someone leaving the stove on the night before, and the energy shifted.

Still, Megan could feel Daniela’s presence beside her.

Quiet. Calm. Consistent.

Like nothing had changed.

Except that everything had.

The rest of the day blurred.

Practice was routine—harmonies, choreography, notes to adjust. Megan kept her head down, focusing, but her voice caught once during a solo line. She saw Daniela glance over, subtle concern in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

Later, Lara cornered her in the hallway.

“You okay?”

Megan gave a short nod. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Megan didn’t answer.

Lara stepped closer, voice softening. “I didn’t say anything. About the journal. I won’t. I swear.”

Megan looked away. “Thanks.”

Lara hesitated, then added, “But if you ever want to talk about it… I’m here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

“I do,” Megan whispered. “Because if I don’t, it’s going to break me.”

Lara didn’t push. Just pulled her into a brief hug and let go like nothing had happened.

That night, Megan stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair out slowly. The house was quieter than usual—everyone worn out from rehearsal, scattered across rooms.

She opened her drawer and pulled out her journal.

It was back where it belonged. Lara must’ve returned it.

Megan opened to a blank page.

She stared at it for a long time before she finally wrote:

“Last night she held me like I wasn’t too much.
I don’t know what to do with that.”

She closed the book, slipped it under her pillow, and climbed into bed.

She didn’t hear Daniela’s voice again that night.

But she felt it—You matter—echoing in her chest, where it refused to leave.