The auditorium was pulsing with anticipation, the stage lights humming softly overhead. {{user}} stood behind the curtain, her costume clinging delicately to her skin, her heart beating loud enough to drown out the overture.

It was the final night of the school musical—her final night. The moment she’d worked for, dreamed of. But all she could think about was what she’d seen as she peeked through the curtain before the show started.

Conrad.

Her ex-boyfriend, the boy who had once made the world feel like poetry, was sitting in the third row. Alone. Holding a single red rose in his lap.

They hadn’t spoken in months. Not since the night everything fell apart—when dreams collided with reality, and ambition got tangled in silence. She’d told herself she was over it. Over him. But now, with him out there, she felt every word she’d ever said catch in her throat.

The music cued. The curtains opened.

And she stepped into the light.

Her performance was raw, vulnerable—aching. Every lyric felt like a confession, every movement a memory. She sang not to the crowd, but to him. To the boy who once danced with her in parking lots and made her promise they’d never lose each other.

As the final song faded, applause roared through the theater, but she barely heard it.

Later, when the cast poured out of the dressing rooms, laughing and glowing, she stepped into the lobby—and there he was.

Conrad stood by the door, looking almost shy. The rose still in his hand.

“You were amazing,” he said, stepping forward. “Like… the version of you I always knew was in there.”

{{user}} didn’t know what to say. His voice felt both foreign and familiar. She looked at the rose he offered her.

She took it. Slowly.

“I wasn’t sure I should come,” he admitted. “But I needed to see you. One last time, maybe. Or… maybe not.”

He looked at her, searching.

“I still believe in you,” he said. “In us. But I know I might’ve waited too long.”

She stared down at the rose, its petals rich and velvety in the hallway light. Her heart beat louder than the encore. Around them, life moved on—castmates hugging parents, teachers praising performances—but in this moment, everything felt suspended.

“Conrad…” she began, unsure of where her own words might lead.

He stepped back, not pressing her. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just… if there’s still something between us, even a spark… meet me tomorrow. Same place as before. Sunset.”

And with a soft smile, he turned and walked out into the night.

{{user}} stood there, the rose in her hand, the scent of it catching in her breath. She watched the door slowly swing closed behind him.