The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of the air conditioning, and the muted hum of campus life outside. Gigi is stretched out on Cecilia's bed, her feet tucked under the covers while Cecilia sits on the edge, her back against the headboard. There’s an almost peaceful stillness between them, but Gigi feels a tug in her chest as she watches Cecilia.
Cecilia had always been a little more guarded around her—polite, quiet, even if they’d shared a fair amount of time together, even if they'd been dating for a few months. But today felt different. There was a rawness to the way she spoke, a vulnerability Gigi wasn’t used to seeing from her. It was strange, but also beautiful. She could tell it was hard for Cecilia to let her in, but Gigi had been patient, just like she always said she would be.
When Cecilia speaks, it’s soft but clear. “That was brave of you,” she says, her voice still holding a bit of wonder. “Back at the quad. I… I wish I had known you years ago.”
Gigi tilts her head, the words catching her off guard. “What do you mean?”
Cecilia hesitates, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I wish I had someone like you around to tell me that I didn’t need to go above and beyond for anyone but myself. What you did at the race was reckless, but turning down a big offer like that just because… what? You wanted it for yourself? You want to be selfish with your talent? I wish I could’ve done something similar when I was younger.”
Gigi’s eyes soften as she realizes what Cecilia is saying. It feels like an acknowledgment, a weight lifting off her shoulders. She glances down, not sure whether to respond, but then her curiosity piques. There’s always something behind those quiet eyes of hers—something deeper, unspoken.
“Y’know, we never pry, and I do appreciate that,” Gigi starts, looking over at Cecilia, “But… can I ask this one thing?”
“Go ahead, anything,” Cecilia answers softly, though Gigi can see a slight tension in her shoulders.
“What… happened? Like… why are you always downplaying your talent with the violin?” Gigi asks carefully, her voice full of gentle curiosity.
Cecilia sighs, a long breath leaving her lips, and she sits up straighter, gathering her thoughts. “That’s a long story,” she says with a faint, apologetic smile.
“I’ll be patient,” Gigi assures her, her tone teasing but sincere.
Cecilia’s smile softens, and she nods. “I know you will.”
And so, Cecilia begins. She talks about the years of subtle but constant pressure from her parents. It wasn’t direct force, but more an expectation—an unspoken demand that she give more, achieve more, be more. There was always the underlying belief that she was capable of greatness, and while her parents never asked for perfection, they were always pushing her toward something bigger than herself.
She tells Gigi of the countless trips, the concerts in distant countries, the planes, the hotels, the rehearsals. But nothing ever felt like it was for her. It was always for others—an audience of faceless strangers, the upper class, the ones with money and influence. Never for herself. And each time she played, she had to bury the part of herself that wanted to just experience life, to be in those places for the sake of the beauty and joy they held, not just as a backdrop for her performances.
The violin, once a beautiful instrument of expression, had turned into something else—a tool. A way to please, a way to perform, a way to never disappoint.
She talks about how she always fought for what she wanted—better violins, a grand piano, the chance to study in America—but it never felt like she was fighting for herself. It was always about maintaining her image as the child prodigy, the star.
“But now… now it feels like I’m just playing for everyone but me,” Cecilia admits, her voice wavering for the first time, the emotion thick in her words. “I promised my parents I’d come back to Germany after graduation. To continue that life. To keep being that star. The one who’s always playing for others. Never for myself.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but Gigi doesn’t interrupt. She waits patiently, letting Cecilia process the weight of her own thoughts.
Finally, Gigi speaks up, her voice tender but certain. “Play for me, then,” she says, reaching up to wipe away a tear that Cecilia hadn’t even realized had fallen. Cecilia’s chest tightens, a small sob escaping her throat before she can stifle it. She curses under her breath for getting so emotional, but Gigi just looks at her, steady and kind.
“What?” Cecilia whispers, wiping her eyes quickly, trying to regain some composure.
“Stay here, in America,” Gigi says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, a request that holds the weight of a thousand hopes behind it. “You said it yourself; your parents love me. And I think they’d rather see you happy, right? Stay here. Play for me, and for yourself.”
Cecilia’s heart stutters. Stay here? The thought makes her feel like she’s standing on the edge of something unknown, something big. Her parents' expectations weigh heavily on her, and the idea of defying them is daunting. She swallows hard, feeling a knot in her throat.
“I wish I could,” Cecilia admits softly, her voice barely a whisper.
“What's stopping you?” Gigi’s voice is steady, full of the unshakable belief that Cecilia has the right to choose her own path.
Cecilia’s mind whirls, turning over the possibilities. What is stopping her? Her parents had never explicitly demanded she come back to Germany, not in a way that would leave her with no choice. It was just that… she had always lived under the pressure of their silent expectations. The thought of disappointing them, of letting them down, it made her stomach turn.
She pauses, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as she considers the question more deeply. Her mind feels conflicted, but when she answers, the words come quietly. “Myself. I—Yeah, I guess I’m stopping myself.”
Gigi’s face softens, her lips curling into a playful but fond smile. “Stupid,” she says teasingly, but there’s affection in her voice. “I think life is pretty boring if you can’t let yourself be happy.”
Cecilia can’t help but laugh softly, the sound bittersweet. But she can’t disagree. Not when Gigi looks at her like that, with so much belief in her. The thought lingers in Cecilia’s chest, the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop letting her past control her future.
She looks at Gigi, really looks at her for the first time since they’ve been talking, and something shifts within her. She knows what she wants now. Maybe it’s scary, maybe it’s uncertain, but Cecilia doesn’t want to spend her life wondering what could’ve been.
“I think you’re right,” she says quietly, wiping away one last tear. “Maybe it’s time I stopped being so scared.”