Chapter 39 Breaking Wynter #2
I hadn’t moved from my bed in three days.
The room had become my cocoon—dark, heavy, and suffocating.
It was easier to exist like this, curled up in the same clothes I’d been wearing, with my thoughts looping endlessly, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
The ache in my chest refused to dull, an ache I wasn’t sure I deserved to let go of.
The soft knock at the door barely registered. I ignored it, as I had the knocks before, and buried my face deeper into my pillow.
But this time, the door opened anyway.
“Enough, Yesoh,” my mother’s voice cut through the stagnant air, sharp but not unkind. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor was a reminder of the world outside—the one I had tried so hard to block out.
I didn’t lift my head. I couldn’t.
“Get up,” she said, and I heard her set something down on the desk. “You’ve wasted enough time in here.”
“But Num—”
“Iwe, ima, nichani ai?” Get up what’s your problem? She spoke to me in Kunda, her language, which she only did when she was scolding us.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping she’d leave. She didn’t.
The bed dipped slightly as she sat down near my feet. Her presence was solid, unrelenting, and I could feel the weight of her gaze even though I refused to meet it.
“I don’t know what happened between you and Wynter,” she said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And heaven’s sake I don’t need to. But whatever it is, it’s not a reason to throw everything away.”
I flinched at her words, the shame crawling up my spine like ice.
“You have The Rite of Spring to prepare for,” she continued. “An opportunity like this doesn’t come often, Yesoh. You can’t afford to neglect it.”
Her words hit like a slap, but I still didn’t move. My voice, when it came, was hoarse and broken. “I can’t.”
“You can,” she said simply, and her tone brooked no argument. “I’m your mother, I know exactly what you can and cannot do.”
Her hand found my arm, gripping it firmly but not unkindly. “Get dressed,” she said, standing abruptly. “You’re coming with me.”
I stayed frozen for a moment, unsure if I even had the energy to argue. But when I glanced up at her, the look in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t leaving without me.
The drive to the old ballet studio in Jakarta was silent. I stared out the window, my reflection ghostlike against the backdrop of the bustling streets. The city moved as if nothing had changed, as if the world hadn’t cracked beneath me days ago.
When we arrived, the sight of the studio took me by surprise.
I hadn’t been here in years—not since I was a child, standing on trembling legs in front of mirrors that stretched to the ceiling.
The building had aged, its paint faded, the sign above the door barely legible.
But the moment we stepped inside, the familiar smell of resin and wood floors flooded my senses, pulling me back to a time when everything had felt simpler.
My mother led me to the main studio without a word. The floor was worn, the mirrors still smudged with fingerprints from the dancers who practiced here now. She set her bag down by the wall and crossed her arms, her eyes scanning the room before landing on me.
“This is where you started,” she said. “And this is where you will get back up.”
I shook my head, the lump in my throat rising. “I can’t—”
“You can,” she interrupted, her voice cutting through my protest. “And you will.”
She stepped closer, her gaze steady. “If women navigated their lives based on how men felt, nothing would ever get done,” she said, her voice cold but steady. “You think you’re the first woman to feel heartbroken? To feel like the world has ended because of a man?”
I bit my lip, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
“No man,” she continued, “is worth sabotaging what you’ve worked for. Not Wynter. Not anyone.”
I looked down, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
“I’m not here to say ‘I told you so’,” she said, her voice softening for the first time. “I’m here because I know what you’re capable of. And because I won’t stand by and watch you waste it.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
“You have The Rite of Spring ahead of you,” she said, gesturing to the empty studio. “That’s what matters. That’s what will last.”
I didn’t move. My legs felt rooted to the spot, my chest tight.
“Get on the floor,” she said firmly, but there was a quiet warmth beneath her command. “Start with what you know. The rest will come back.”
I hesitated, but then, slowly, I stepped forward. The mirrors reflected a version of myself I barely recognized—tired, broken, but still standing.
I placed my hand on the barre, the cool wood grounding me as I lifted my leg into a slow, shaky arabesque. The movement was stiff, awkward, but it was something.
My mother watched from the corner, her arms crossed. She didn’t say anything more, but she didn’t need to.
The silence of the studio, the rhythm of my movements, and the weight of her presence began to chip away at the heaviness in my chest. And for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe again.
This wasn’t about Wyn. This was about me. And I’d die before I let a broken heart cost me my career.
A week later Back in New York
I wanted to make things right. I was back in New York and I was ready to face the consequences of my actions head on and stop running from my problems once and for all. I was aware that it wouldn’t be easy but I also wasn’t aware just how difficult it was going to be to be forgiven.
The streets of New York were alive with their usual chaos; honking cars, hurried footsteps, the distant hum of subway trains.
I clutched the strap of my bag tighter as I made my way up the steps to Wynter’s apartment building. The cold air bit at my face, but I didn’t care. My heart was racing, my palms sweating despite the chill. I didn’t know if he’d listen, if he’d even let me in, but I had to try. I had to fix this.
I buzzed the intercom, my breath visible in the freezing air. My heart pounded as I waited for the response, half-hoping it would be him. Instead, a familiar voice crackled through the speaker.
“It’s Bae. What do you want?”
I swallowed hard, my voice trembling as I answered. “I need to see Wyn. Please. It’s important.”
There was a pause, the kind that stretched too long and made my chest tighten. Then the door clicked open, and I stepped inside, the sound of my boots echoing on the tiled floor as I climbed the stairs to his apartment.
When I reached the door, it wasn’t Wynter who greeted me. It was Bae, her sharp eyes narrowing the moment she saw me. Beck stood a few steps behind her, leaning casually against the wall, his expression unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” Bae asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice wasn’t angry, but it was firm, a clear warning in her tone.
“I need to talk to Wyn,” I said, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “Please. I just want to apologize.”
Bae snorted, shaking her head. “Apologize? Let me humor you for a second, how exactly is that gonna go? Hey, I’m so sorry that I got nosy and did exactly what I promised not to do and betrayed your trust. Will you please take me back and forget all about it, and have things be rainbows and unicorns again? ”
My stomach dropped, and the guilt hit me like a tidal wave. “I…I know what I did was wrong,” I said, my voice cracking. “I just—”
“You just what?” Bae interrupted, her eyes narrowing further. “Thought you’d break into his private thoughts because you couldn’t be bothered to ask him how he felt like a normal person?”
I flinched at her words, shame curling in my chest. “I made a mistake,” I whispered. “I know that.”
Bae leaned closer, her voice lowering to a sharp whisper. “If you’re going to do crazy stuff like that, Yesoh, at least don’t get caught. But you did.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Beck stepped forward, her hand resting on Bae’s shoulder. “That’s enough,” she said gently, but there was a seriousness in her tone that silenced her.
Bae stepped back, her arms still crossed, her eyes still sharp.
Beck looked at me then, her expression softer but no less resolute. “This isn’t a good time, Yesoh,” she said. “He’s not ready to see you.”
I shook my head, the desperation rising in my throat. “Please, Beck. I just need a minute. I need to tell him I’m sorry.”
She hesitated, glancing toward the closed door behind her, before turning back to me. “He left specific instructions,” Beck said quietly, her voice careful. “He doesn’t want to see you. Not now.”
The words felt like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of me. I stared at Beck, my throat tight, my hands trembling at my sides.
“Please,” I whispered again, my voice barely audible.
Beck shook her head, her eyes filled with something like pity. “I’m sorry, Yesoh. You need to go.”
I glanced past him, toward the door that stood between me and Wynter, and for a moment, I thought about pushing past them, about forcing my way in. But then I saw the resolve in Bae’s face, the quiet firmness in Beck’s voice, and I knew.
Wyn didn’t want me here.
I nodded slowly, my shoulders slumping as I took a step back. “Okay,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’ll go.”
Bae watched me carefully, her arms still crossed, while Beck gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Without another word, I turned and walked away, my footsteps heavy on the stairs as I made my way back to the street. The cold air hit me like a slap, but it did nothing to numb the ache in my chest.
I had come here hoping to make things right, but instead, I’d only confirmed what I already feared. Wyn didn’t want me in his life, and maybe he never would again.
As I walked down the crowded street, the world blurred around me, the noise of the city fading into the background. All I could hear were Beck’s words, echoing in my mind like a broken record:
“He doesn’t want to see you.”
And for the first time, I let myself believe it.