Chapter 5
The day of the audition had arrived. A long queue stretched outside the auditorium, buzzing with anticipation. Rumors swirled that the selection judges were not just senior artists but famous stars from the industry. Becky and Irin stood in line, their stomachs fluttering with nerves—especially Becky. This was her dream, to perform on a big stage. But now that everything was falling into place, doubts crept in. What if something went wrong? What if she didn’t get selected? What would happen then? She was drowning in a sea of possibilities when a familiar presence made itself known.
A cold, ticklish aura lingered in the air, sending shivers down Becky’s spine. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The one and only president of the campus was making her way toward the auditorium. Becky swallowed hard, her nervousness doubling. As if the audition wasn’t stressful enough, now she had an all-too-familiar audience to impress.
"Irin, do you think I can make it?" Becky asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We both will, sweetiepie!" Irin replied enthusiastically, doing her best to cheer them both up.
"Next, Becky Rebeca Armstrong?" the MC called out.
Becky hesitated before stepping forward to the marked spot on stage. Thank God the audience area was dark, leaving only the judges visible. That small mercy helped her relax a little. But deep down, she could feel a pair of eyes piercing through the darkness, watching her intently. Even though she couldn’t see Freen, she knew—without a doubt—that the ice queen’s gaze was locked onto her.
"This song is called Photograph by Ed Sheeran," Becky announced before strumming her guitar and singing:
Loving can hurtLoving can hurt sometimesBut it's the only thing that I know…
When it gets hardYou know it can get hard sometimesIt is the only thing that makes us feel alive…
We keep this love in a photographWe made these memories for ourselves…
Where our eyes are never closingHearts are never—
"Stop."
Becky blinked, still caught in the trance of her music. She snapped back to reality and looked up, confused, only to see one of the female judges—Lavato, a well-known star—glaring at her.
"Seriously?! You think we have all the time in the world? The poster clearly stated that only serious candidates should audition. And here you are, unable to even follow a song’s natural flow!" Lavato spat harshly.
Becky tightened her grip on the guitar, her heart pounding. "I was just adding my own texture to the song. Otherwise, what would make my performance stand out? How else would I showcase my vocals, my pitch, and my individuality if I don’t personalize it?" she said, confidence lacing her voice.
She knew she had talent. She knew she was fine as wine in the singing game.
Suddenly, the auditorium lights flickered on, illuminating the entire space. Becky’s eyes immediately landed on Freen, along with Kade and Nam, who were overseeing the auditions.
But fate had its own twisted sense of humor. Lavato clearly didn’t appreciate Becky’s confident response. Her expression turned even colder. "OUT," she snapped.
Becky frowned. "But where did I go wrong?" she asked, refusing to back down.
"I simply don’t like your texture, dear," Lavato replied condescendingly, her tone dripping with mockery.
The other two judges exchanged uneasy glances but ultimately chose to move on to the next contestant. Becky, however, stood her ground.
"I don’t think an artist should be judged based on personal preference. I can sing another song if needed, and we have two more judges here. I’d like to hear their opinions. I assume they have their own minds?" Becky challenged, irritation clear in her voice.
She was used to being treated like a princess. She knew her worth. But here, everything demanded that she fight for even basic human decency.
"That's enough," a voice rang through the auditorium, silencing the room.
Becky’s eyes snapped to Freen, hope flickering in them for the first time. Maybe, just maybe, Freen would fight for fairness this time. But no. There was no warmth in her gaze. No sign of support.
"NEXT," Freen yelled and made it clear.
Becky held her gaze for a moment longer before finally turning on her heel and walking away. As soon as she was out, she ran. And ran. As far as her legs would take her.
Eventually, she found herself on the rooftop of one of the campus buildings, sitting on the topmost staircase near the security gate. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered to herself, "I hate it. I hate it. I hate her."
Someone was pacing back and forth in the room, lost in thought, wondering if she had hurt the princess more than she had imagined. Anxiety crept in as she started worrying about where Becky could have gone. "It's already nine... where the hell are you?" she mumbled to herself, frustration laced in her voice.
Just then, the door swung open, revealing the very reason for her restlessness.
Becky stopped in her tracks, momentarily stunned by the presence of the one person she hadn’t expected tonight. She hesitated for a moment before quietly making her way toward the restroom.
"Where have you been? It's late. And how did the guards let you in without informing me?" Freen’s voice rang out, laced with concern. Becky heard her, but she knew this was nothing more than guilt speaking. Freen was here tonight because she felt bad about how she had treated her earlier.
Despite everything—the cold treatment, the harsh words—Becky still held onto a sliver of hope. She had always sensed that there was more to Freen than what she let on. Maybe it was something about the way she carried herself, the way she masked her emotions so effortlessly. Becky had always had an odd intuition when it came to Freen.
Yet, she chose to say nothing and disappeared into the restroom.
Freen clenched her fists, frustration building as she realized Becky was so upset that she didn’t even want to respond. The silence between them felt heavier than any argument, unsettling her in a way she hadn’t expected. So, she sank onto the couch, flipping open her laptop, pretending to be immersed in work. But in truth, she wasn’t working at all. Her mind was too occupied, replaying the events of the day over and over again.
She was hurt too—maybe even more than she wanted to admit.
A few minutes later, Becky reappeared, now in her pajamas, sitting on her bed, scrolling through TikTok as if nothing had happened.
Freen tried again. "I asked you something earlier."
Becky barely looked up. "Oh, I was in Irin's room, President," she replied, her voice steady, calm—too calm. She wanted to make it clear that Freen meant nothing to her.
Freen finally got a response, but it was far from what she had hoped for. The word "President" hit her like a slap.
"P'Freen to President…" she muttered under her breath, feeling an unfamiliar sting in her chest.
But isn't this what I wanted? For her to hate me?
Distance was good. Hatred was even better. She had always believed that. Then why did it hurt so much? She had barely known Becky for four days, yet her heart was already betraying her.
She needed to do something—anything—to make amends. But how?
Freen stood from the couch, heading toward the kitchen. As she passed Becky’s bed, she paused. "I'm making coffee. Do you want some?" she asked, not looking at her.
Becky was caught off guard. Or maybe she was just outright shocked. This was unexpected. But she knew why Freen was doing this—guilt. And that was a good thing, right?
"No, I'm not a coffee person. I only drink boba milk tea. But thank you, President, for asking," Becky replied, her voice dripping with nonchalance.
Neither of them realized it, but they were locked in a silent battle. Freen wanted to reach out, to fix things. Becky, on the other hand, was relishing the fact that she was finally making an impact on the Ice Queen.
In the kitchen, Freen sighed, pulling out her phone and placing an order for boba milk tea while making her own coffee. When the doorbell rang a while later, both women instinctively made eye contact. No one was allowed in their quarters this late. So who could it be?
But Freen knew.
She got up, retrieving the delivery while Becky watched curiously, trying to see what it was.
Freen walked over and extended the cup toward her. "Here. Your milk tea—the boba one, just how you like it."
Becky was on cloud nine. But she made sure not to show a single sign of it on her face. Inside, she was screaming—not because of the tea, but because of how much of an effect she was having on Freen.
"Why bother? I didn’t ask for it," she said, taking the cup nonetheless.
"You're welcome," Freen shot back sarcastically before returning to her laptop.
Becky quickly picked up her phone, typing furiously. "YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED."
Irin’s response was almost instant. "WHAT? DID WE GET SELECTED?!"
"NO, DUMMY. Freen is in the room tonight."
"SO??? Isn’t that a bad thing?"
"Yes, yes. I mean no. But I think she’s feeling guilty for not speaking up for me at the audition, so she ordered milk tea for me."
"NO F*CKING WAY?!"
"I'll tell you the details tomorrow. Goodnight. Bye."
Even as Freen worked, her eyes occasionally flickered toward Becky, who was typing away like the fate of the world depended on it.
Who is she talking to? Does she have a boyfriend?
Freen immediately shook the thought away, scolding herself. Why should you care, Freen Sarocha?! her inner voice yelled.
And with that, they spent the rest of the night in their usual silence, neither speaking another word.