The concert hall was finally quiet. In EON's private dressing suite—a sprawling room lined with mirrors, soft lights, and velvet couches—the air carried the dense, electric stillness that follows triumph.The suite was immaculate: plush white carpet underfoot, a chandelier gleaming overhead, and a long table covered with champagne, fruit, and congratulatory bouquets.
Cassian sat on a couch with his tie loosened, a faint smile playing at his lips as he scrolled through fan reactions online. Jace was upside down on another couch, hair tousled, flicking through photos on his phone. Luca had already changed into comfortable clothes and was absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against his leg with a drumstick. Theo, calm as ever, poured himself a glass of mineral water from the bar, his reflection clear in the mirror-lined wall. At the center of it all, Noah Rolston sat perfectly still.
A soft knock interrupted them. A staff member stepped inside and bowed politely. "Everything is ready for your departure. The cars are waiting."
Noah lifted his gaze. "Not yet."
The woman hesitated, unsure if she should press further, but he raised a hand to stop her. "Just give us a few minutes."
She nodded quickly and stepped out.
Across the room, Nigel looked up from his tablet, meeting Noah's eyes. Noah gave a small, wordless signal. Understanding immediately, Nigel set the device down and left quietly through the side door.
Cassian looked up. "What are we waiting for?"
Noah didn't answer.
Theo chuckled under his breath. "Our fearless leader and his mysterious post-show silences."
"Probably meditating," Jace teased, tossing a grape across the room. "You know, getting centered for the next tour."
Luca smirked faintly. "Whatever it is, it works. You were different out there tonight."
"Different?" Noah asked, keeping his tone even.
Cassian nodded. "Yeah. You seemed lighter. You actually smiled. Fans are losing their minds about it."
"Warm-hearted Noah," Jace said with a grin. "A rare sighting."
Their laughter filled the room, easy and familiar. Noah only smiled faintly in return. "Maybe I was in a good mood," he said.
And maybe that was true. He had felt lighter on stage. His gaze had kept returning to the same section of the audience, drawn to a single familiar figure in the sea of faces. Every time, something unspoken stirred in his chest—a warmth that made the music feel sharper, more alive.
Nigel slipped back into the room a few minutes later. One look was enough; he gave a subtle shake of his head.
So Mirabelle wasn't coming.
Noah had half-expected it, but the quiet confirmation still settled heavier than he wanted to admit. In hindsight, it wasn't surprising—she hadn't visited him backstage once since EON's debut. Still, the memory of their younger days flickered through his mind: Mirabelle waiting behind the curtain after every school recital, her hands full of flowers, her smile brighter than the stage lights. She had always been there back then, proud and certain and close enough to touch.
He had thought, maybe just for tonight, she would be again. But she didn't come.
He exhaled quietly, masking disappointment behind practiced composure. "Understood," he murmured.
The others didn't notice. They were too busy laughing over fan videos.
Noah leaned back on the couch, his gaze unfocused. Why doesn't she reach out?
It had been almost a year since they had last spoken. There had been no visits, no calls, and no texts. He had told himself she was simply busy managing her family's empire, working quietly as always. But deep down, the silence stung.
He unlocked his phone and stared at her contact name. The photo was still the same—Mirabelle at a gala years ago, smiling politely beside a fountain. For a long moment, he hesitated. Then, without overthinking, he typed:
Are you doing well?
He watched the screen, thumb hovering. Then he pressed send.
A small loading icon spun for several seconds before turning gray.
Message not delivered.
He frowned and tried again.
Error: Unable to send. Recipient unavailable.
A crease formed between his brows. Her number had always been the same—she'd never changed it before. He scrolled up through their old thread, reading the dozens of bright, thoughtful messages she used to send: morning greetings, encouragement, little reminders to eat or rest. They had stopped abruptly a year ago, leaving the space below empty.
He sat there quietly, the faint hum of laughter from his bandmates fading into the background. Cassian called from across the room, "You coming, boss?"
"In a minute," Noah said absently.
He set the phone down and rubbed the back of his neck, a dull ache settling in his chest. For someone who had once been everywhere in his life, Mirabelle had vanished completely—like a melody cut off mid-note.
Outside, the night air was cool as Mirabelle stepped out of the concert hall, her pulse still racing from the performance. The streets were alive with fans replaying their favorite songs, their lightsticks glowing against the dark.
She smiled as she scrolled through her phone, uploading clips from the concert. Her followers flooded the comments immediately:
"You were there again, Belle!"
"I saw you near section B!"
Laughing softly, she walked toward her waiting car. They were perfect tonight, she thought as she settled into the car. Every single one of them.
The city lights flashed by outside, casting a gentle glow on her face. She leaned back in her seat, scrolling through her camera roll filled with videos of the show.
A quiet sigh escaped her. It had been a year since she was given this second chance, and for the first time, she truly felt at peace watching him from afar.
Noah was radiant, just as he had always been.
Her thumb hovered briefly over his name in her contacts before she scrolled past. She had blocked the number months ago—not in anger, but for her own resolve. When she had first returned to this life, she had known her weakness. She had known that one word from him could unravel all her progress. So she had chosen distance, the only way to keep herself from falling back into the same cycle.
It had hurt at first, but now it brought quiet comfort.
She smiled faintly and whispered, "Maybe someday, when he meets the right person, we can talk again. Maybe then he won't hate me anymore."
Her phone buzzed with a wave of likes and comments on her newest post—a photo of the stage lights glowing like constellations. Mirabelle smiled softly, her heart light.
Outside, the city shimmered around her, alive and bright, carrying the echo of music that still played somewhere deep in her chest.