Chapter 32 The Chosen One
The Chosen One
That Friday the studio felt heavy with anticipation that afternoon, the kind that settles in your stomach and refuses to leave.
Everyone was whispering—quiet, nervous murmurs as we stretched or adjusted pointe shoes.
I kept my focus on the wooden floor, the faint squeak of the barres as dancers leaned into them, my body humming with exhaustion from the morning’s exercises.
“Do you think they’ll announce today?” Sydney whispered, crouched beside me on the floor.
“Firstly, you’re not a ballerina, you’re going to get caught,” I informed her.
“Shhh no one has to know. I may be a theatre major, but I’m here for moral support when they announce your win,” she informed me, tying her blonde curls up in a ponytail.
“I might not,” I reminded her. Honestly, at this rate, I was more scared of letting her down than myself. “You’re a chronic optimist dear, Syd.”
“One of us has to be!” She flung her hands up in the air. “We’re here to win, Soh, only win.”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound indifferent, though my fingers tugged at the ribbons of my pointe shoes with just a little too much force.
Remi, lounging dramatically against the barre, smirked. “She’s bluffing. Look at her. She’s a bundle of nerves.”
“I’m not,” I snapped, glaring at her.
Remi arched an eyebrow. “Okay, Yesoh. Whatever you say.”
Before I could defend myself further, the studio door opened with a creak. Madame entered, her posture as sharp and precise as her choreography. She carried her clipboard like it was a royal decree, her movements deliberate as she made her way to the front of the room.
“Gather around,” she said, her tone clipped and commanding.
The whispers stopped instantly. We scrambled into a semicircle around her, the floor creaking under our pointe shoes. My heart was racing now, and I forced myself to stand still, shoulders back, chin up.
Madame scanned the room, her gaze lingering on each of us just long enough to make us squirm. Then she looked down at her clipboard and began.
“The casting decisions for The Rite of Spring have been finalized,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Rehearsals begin next week.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“Lead role: The Chosen One,” Madame said, pausing briefly. Her eyes lifted from the clipboard and locked onto me. “Yesoh Yeo.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The words hung in the air, suspended in a surreal haze.
It wasn’t until Sydney gasped beside me that the reality of what she’d said hit me. My name. The lead role.
I blinked, my vision blurring. “What?” I whispered, barely audible.
Madame raised an eyebrow at my reaction. “Did you not hear me, Miss Yeo? You are The Chosen One.”
My knees felt weak, but I managed to nod, my throat too tight to form words. Beside me, Sydney clutched my arm, her grip firm and trembling at the same time.
“Yesoh!” she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking. “You did it!”
Remi, ever the calm one, leaned casually against the barre and smirked. “Well, look at you, superstar.”
The rest of Madame’s announcements faded into background noise. My heart was still pounding as dancers congratulated me in passing, their smiles warm but tinged with the inevitable jealousy that always lingered in these situations.
When Madame dismissed us, Sydney threw her arms around me before I could even process what was happening.
“I’m so proud of you!” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
I hugged her back, my own arms trembling. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice cracking.
When she pulled back, her eyes were glistening with tears. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Yesoh. No one deserves it more.”
Her words hit me like a wave, and I suddenly felt like crying too. But before I could lose myself in the moment, Remi sauntered over, tossing an arm around my shoulders.
“Okay, enough with the waterworks,” she teased. “We’re celebrating, right? Pastries? Coffee? Champagne?”
“Champagne?” I repeated, laughing through the lump in my throat.
“Or sparkling cider if Madame’s still in the building,” Remi said with a wink.
The bakery down the block was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the biting December wind outside. Sydney insisted on buying the pastries, and Remi took it upon herself to loudly critique every item on display until we told her to hush.
When we finally sat down, the smell of fresh coffee and sugar filled the air. I stared down at my croissant, the reality of the day finally starting to settle in.
“The Chosen One,” Sydney said softly, her voice tinged with awe. “It sounds…perfect.”
“It sounds terrifying,” I admitted, my fingers tearing at the edges of the pastry. “What am I? A wizard? what if I mess it up?”
“You won’t,” Remi said firmly. “You’re Yesoh freaking Yeo. You’ve got this.”
“Yeah, and if anyone was going to be chosen, it was destined to be you, no one else,” Sydney comforted.
I knew empires could fall and the world could end, but Sydney would always be my number one cheerleader.
I smiled despite myself, the warmth of their support starting to chip away at my nerves.
When I got home later that evening, a note from my mom was waiting for me on the bed, her handwriting as neat and deliberate as always.
Congratulations, sweet girl. I’m so confident in you that I sent this gift three weeks in advance, I’m proud of you.
Mummy
Beside the note was a wrapped box. My hands trembled as I tore the paper away, revealing a sleek black Canon camera. I turned it over in my hands, my chest tightening as I traced the smooth edges.
“She knew,” I whispered to myself. Because, despite how far away, my mother always did her best to keep up.
Months ago, I’d mentioned wanting a camera, inspired by a street photographer I’d seen near Central Park.
My mom thought it would be a good idea for me to scrapbook my memories so that she could see them.
I’d thought she’d forgotten, but here it was—a tangible reminder of her quiet, constant support.
I snapped a photo of the tulips she’d placed on the table, the click of the shutter grounding me.
Later that night, as the city lights twinkled outside my window, I picked up my phone and dialed Wynter.
He answered on the second ring, his voice slightly breathless. “Hello, darling.”
“Hey,” I said, curling up on the couch. “Guess what?”
“Hold on,” he said quickly. “Practice ran late, and I’m drowning in work right now. Can we talk later?”
“Oh,” I murmured, my chest tightening. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll call you back, okay?” he said, but before I could respond the line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a moment, the earlier high of the day dimming slightly. I wanted to share this with him—to hear his excitement, to feel like he was part of this moment. But he was busy, as he usually was, and that was okay. I knew what I was getting into when I got with him.
Setting the phone aside, I picked up the camera again, aiming it out the window at the glittering skyline. The click of the shutter was steady and grounding, a reminder that this moment was still mine. I had done it. And even if Wynter couldn’t celebrate with me just yet, I knew he’d be proud.
The apartment was quiet that evening. I ran into Cahya and Wyn downtown after celebrating with the girls.
My brother was sprawled out across the couch with his feet kicked up, absorbed and some novel.
I was beside Wynter, my shoulder brushing his, but it felt like there was a subtle distance between us—he was here with me physically, but his attention was entirely elsewhere.
His laptop in his hands, his gaze focused and tumbling on it, he was on the phone with his manager for an hour before, he was mindlessly scrolling through messages and emails demand after demand for his presence.
I wanted so deeply to tell him about my good news, but I didn’t want to distract him.
I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the growing ache inside me. Cahya’s voice, casual but knowing, broke through my thoughts.
“So, when are you going to tell him?” Cahya asked, his eyes glinting with excitement. He put his book down and turned to me, his grin wide, practically teasing. “You got the lead in The Rite of Spring. You can’t just let that slide, Yesoh.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “It feels like the right moment keeps slipping away. He’s been so busy, and I don’t want to interrupt him.”
Cahya rolled his eyes dramatically. “Interrupt him? Come on, you’ve been working toward this forever. It’s huge. Tell him.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, but his grin didn’t fade. “You can’t keep it to yourself forever, you know.”
I wanted to explain that it wasn’t about not sharing it. It was about timing. He has so, so much going on, and I didn’t want to feel like just another item on his already crowded list.
“Fine,” Cahya said after a moment, his eyes glinting with that teasing spark of his. “I’ll do it for you.”
“Why must you be so messy?” I swatted his boulder.
“Because it’s in my nature as your brother,” he reminded me, much to my detriment.
Before I could react, Cahya turned toward Wynter, who had barely been paying attention to us. “Did you hear Yesoh’s news?” Cahya asked, his voice full of mischief.
Wynter glanced up from his screen, his brow furrowing as he turned toward us. “What news?”
Cahya grinned, obviously enjoying the suspense. “She got the lead role in The Rite of Spring.”
Wynter blinked, momentarily stunned. His gaze shifted back and forth between Cahya and me, as if trying to process what he had just heard. “Wait, what?” He looked at me, his expression suddenly serious. “You got the lead?”
I swallowed, the words suddenly harder to say than I thought they’d be. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Madame announced it this morning.”
Wynter’s face lit up with a wide smile, but there was a flicker of confusion, too. “Why didn’t you tell me?”