Mrs. Grant was already waiting just inside the choir room when Chad and I slipped through the door. The room buzzed with quiet energy, the rest of the group scattered around—stretching, chatting, humming through scales under their breath. It felt normal. Familiar. Like every other day I had spent in that room.
I clung to that.
“There you are,” Mrs. Grant said as soon as she saw me, her tone warm but purposeful. She gestured toward the rack along the wall. “Go ahead and get your robe on, Zyan. We’re starting warmups in just a second.”
I nodded quickly and moved to do what she asked, keeping my head down just enough that no one would notice the tightness in my chest. The black robe felt heavier than usual as I slipped it on, the fabric settling around me like it carried more weight than it should have. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just… noticeable.
Everything felt noticeable.
“You good?” Chad asked quietly as he stepped up beside me.
“Yeah,” I answered almost immediately, forcing a small grin. “I’ve got this.”
He studied me for a second like he didn’t fully believe it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he bumped his shoulder lightly into mine. “Good. Because we’re about to kill this.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh and nodded. “Yeah. We are.”
Mrs. Grant clapped her hands once, pulling everyone’s attention toward her. “Alright, everyone. Let’s circle up.”
We moved without hesitation, forming a loose semicircle around the podium. I kept my posture relaxed, my expression neutral, doing everything I could to look like this was just another rehearsal. Just another performance. Nothing different.
Even if everything about it felt different.
“Let’s start with scales,” she said, giving us our note. “Nice and easy. Don’t push. Just focus.”
We followed her lead, voices blending together as we worked through the warmups. The familiarity helped. It always did. The structure, the repetition—it gave my mind something to hold onto instead of letting it wander too far.
Inhale. Sing. Listen. Adjust.
Again.
By the time we finished, some of the tension had eased out of my shoulders. Not gone, but manageable.
Mrs. Grant nodded once, satisfied, then rested her hands lightly on the podium. “Before we head out there, I want to say a few things.”
The room quieted instantly.
Her eyes moved across all of us, lingering just a little longer on a few faces before she smiled. “This group,” she began, her voice softer now, “is one of the best I’ve had the privilege of working with in a long time. You’ve grown together, supported each other, and created something special. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
She turned slightly, looking toward Chad, Samantha, and Jasmine. “And for some of you, this is your last performance with us before you move on. High school is going to bring new challenges, new opportunities… but don’t forget what you built here. And don’t forget what it feels like to be the new one walking into a room like this.”
They nodded, each of them smiling in their own way.
Then her gaze shifted to me.
“Zyan,” she said gently.
I straightened a little without thinking, meeting her eyes.
“You haven’t been with us very long,” she continued, her smile softening, “but in the time you have been here, you’ve reminded all of us why we do this. Not just to perform… but to feel something real. You brought that back into this room.”
I felt my face heat up immediately, and I ducked my head slightly, trying to shrug it off. “I just… sing,” I muttered quietly, though I knew she could still hear me.
She smiled a little wider at that. “And that’s exactly why it matters.”
“What do you mean?” Hunter asked from a few spots down, his brow furrowed slightly. “And… why did you call him Zyan?”
The room shifted subtly, attention turning toward me.
I felt it immediately.
Chad stepped a little closer, his arm coming up across my shoulders in a quiet show of support as Mrs. Grant took a breath.
“Some of you may have seen things on the news recently,” she said carefully. “About a boy who was found after being missing for years.”
A few heads nodded.
“The reports didn’t get everything right,” she continued, her tone steady. “But the part that matters is this—Zachary Brody is actually Zyan Montgomery. He was taken from his family when he was very young, and he was only reunited with them a few days ago.”
Silence fell over the room.
I kept my eyes down, staring at the floor, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t something everyone was now thinking about. Like I could just stand there and let it pass without it sticking to me.
“Wait… seriously?” Paul muttered. “The news said something totally different.”
“Yeah,” someone else added quietly.
“So… this is your last performance with us?” Samantha asked, her voice softer now.
Mrs. Grant nodded. “It is.”
That hit harder than I expected.
I swallowed, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed, even as something twisted in my chest.
“Well,” Heather said suddenly, breaking the heaviness with a grin, “then we’re making this the best performance this choir has ever had.”
A few people laughed, and just like that, the tension cracked.
“Yeah,” Chad added, squeezing my shoulder. “No pressure or anything.”
I let out a small breath that almost felt like a laugh. “None at all.”
Mrs. Grant smiled at all of us, clearly pleased with how quickly the group had pulled itself back together. “That’s exactly the attitude I want. Now, let’s go show them what you can do.”
We broke the circle, grabbing positions and moving toward the backstage hallway. The closer we got, the louder the muffled sound of the audience became—voices overlapping, chairs shifting, the low hum of anticipation.
My stomach tightened again.
I rolled my shoulders back slightly and took a slow breath, keeping my expression calm.
You’ve done this before.
It’s just another performance.
Chad stayed beside me as we walked, his presence steady and grounding.
“You good?” he asked again, quieter this time.
I nodded, keeping my eyes forward. “Yeah. I’m good.”
It wasn’t entirely true.
But it was enough.
The lights dimmed on the other side of the curtain, and the room beyond us fell into a hush. Mrs. Grant stepped out onto the stage, her voice carrying clearly as she began introducing the choir.
One by one, we slipped into position behind the curtain, the familiar routine taking over.
I found my mark.
Sat down at the piano.
Rested my hands lightly on the keys.
And waited.
The moment the lights in the auditorium dropped, everything changed.
The low hum of the crowd dissolved into a heavy silence that pressed in from all sides, thick and expectant. From where I sat at the piano, the world beyond the stage might as well not have existed. The lights were too bright, washing everything out into a sea of darkness beyond the first few rows. I knew the room was packed—every seat filled, people lining the walls—but I couldn’t see any of them.
Not really.
Just shadows.
Shapes.
A presence.
I drew in a slow breath and let my fingers settle against the keys, grounding myself in something real, something familiar. The polished surface of the piano reflected the stage lights in soft streaks, and for a brief second, that was all I focused on.
Keys.
Hands.
Breath.
Mrs. Grant’s voice faded from the wings, and I caught the subtle motion of her hand signaling me to begin.
I didn’t hesitate.
The opening notes slipped into the silence, soft and steady, filling the space before anyone else had a chance to. The sound carried easily, echoing through the auditorium with a clarity that made everything else fall away. I didn’t think about the audience. I didn’t think about my family sitting somewhere out there in the front row.
I just played.
Behind me, I could feel the choir shifting into place, and then Chad’s voice cut cleanly through the music.
“When the road gets dark…”
It was smooth. Controlled. Confident in a way that pulled the audience in immediately.
I kept my focus on the piano, letting the rhythm anchor me as the song built. Heather stepped in beside him, their voices blending together effortlessly, the harmonies filling the space in a way that made the stage feel bigger than it was.
“…have a little faith in me…”
The rest of the group joined in, and the sound swelled, surrounding me, lifting everything higher. The lights shifted from dim white to a soft blue, washing over the stage and giving everything a quiet, almost dreamlike quality.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
It wasn’t a stage.
It wasn’t a performance.
It was just music.
The transition into the next song came naturally, my fingers already moving before the final note had fully faded. The tempo shifted, the mood changing as Hunter stepped forward, his voice carrying a different kind of energy—stronger, more grounded.
The group followed him seamlessly, their voices rising and falling together as the set moved forward. Each song blended into the next without pause, the transitions smooth enough that it felt like one continuous piece instead of separate performances.
I stayed where I was, letting the music guide me, letting the familiarity of the keys keep everything steady.
But the further we went, the more I could feel it.
The countdown.
Two songs.
That’s all that stood between me and everything I had been trying not to think about.
I pushed it down.
Focused.
Played.
The faster piece came and went in a blur of movement and sound, Sheldon taking the lead while the rest of us followed. The energy shifted again, brighter this time, more playful, and I could hear the audience reacting—small bursts of laughter, scattered applause slipping in between phrases.
It helped.
It made it feel less overwhelming.
Less like I was standing in front of hundreds of people and more like I was part of something moving around me.
Then Chad moved.
He slipped onto the bench beside me just as we transitioned into the duet, his shoulder bumping mine lightly as his hands found their place on the keys.
I didn’t look at him, but I could feel the grin in his posture.
We started playing together, the piece shifting into something lighter, more playful, the notes bouncing back and forth between us. It wasn’t perfect on purpose—we leaned into it, exaggerating the movement, bumping shoulders, crowding each other’s space like we were competing for control of the instrument.
The audience picked up on it immediately.
A ripple of laughter moved through the room as Chad nudged me aside slightly, and I leaned back into him, refusing to give up my space. Our hands crossed over each other more than once, the rhythm never breaking even as we made it look like chaos.
He stood suddenly, reaching for the edge of my robe.
And then—
It was gone.
The fabric slipped away from my shoulders in one smooth motion, pooling behind me as the silver shirt caught the stage lights instantly. I felt the shift immediately, the exposure hitting all at once, but I didn’t stop playing.
Couldn’t.
Chad dropped back onto the bench, exaggerating the motion as he bumped me to the side, and I let myself slide just enough to make it look like he had taken over completely. The audience laughed again, louder this time, and I played into it, stepping away with a mock expression before circling back in time for the transition.
The final notes of the duet rang out, and Chad carried them forward without hesitation.
Then he shifted.
The opening chords of the next song spilled into the silence, softer this time, more deliberate.
My song.
I stepped forward, the light catching me fully now, isolating me from everything else on the stage. For a split second, the noise in my head tried to come back—all of it, all at once—but I shut it down the only way I knew how.
I sang.
“I thought love was only true in fairy tales…”
The words came easier than I expected, carried by the melody, by the familiarity of something I had practiced over and over again when no one else was around. My voice didn’t shake. It didn’t break. It settled into the space like it belonged there.
Hunter and Sheldon joined me on either side, their voices blending in just enough to support without pulling focus. The rhythm built gradually, the rest of the choir stepping in piece by piece until the sound filled the auditorium completely.
“…then I saw her face…”
The energy shifted again, brighter now, fuller, and I felt it in the way the audience responded—subtle at first, then stronger, their presence pushing back against the stage instead of just watching it.
By the time we hit the chorus, it wasn’t just a performance anymore.
It was movement.
Momentum.
Everything rising at once.
The final note hit clean, the sound hanging in the air for just a fraction of a second before the room erupted.
Applause crashed over us, loud and immediate, filling every inch of space the music had just occupied. People were on their feet—I could hear it, feel it, even if I couldn’t see them clearly through the lights.
We lined up automatically, the choreography taking over as we stepped forward together and bowed.
I kept my head down just a little longer than I needed to.
Then I looked up.
And for the first time, I could make them out.
Front row.
My family.
All of them.
Smiling.
Clapping.
Standing.
For me.
Heat rushed to my face instantly, and I ducked my head again as we straightened, the moment hitting harder than anything else had.
The lights dimmed quickly after that, the applause still echoing as we were guided offstage in a smooth, practiced motion. Hands on shoulders, quiet directions, the controlled chaos of a performance ending.
The curtain closed behind us.
And just like that—
It was over.
The hallway outside was packed, voices overlapping in every direction as parents, students, and staff filled the space. Laughter echoed off the walls, conversations blurred together, and the energy from the auditorium seemed to spill out into every corner of the building. It was overwhelming in a completely different way than the stage had been—louder, closer, harder to tune out.
I barely had time to adjust before someone slammed into me.
“Zyan!”
Toby.
He launched himself at me without hesitation, and I caught him instinctively, my arms wrapping around him as he clung tightly to my neck. His excitement was immediate and overwhelming, his small body practically vibrating as he pressed himself against me.
“I finally got dibs!” he whispered loudly into my ear, like it was some kind of victory he’d been waiting for all night. Before I could respond, he leaned back just enough to kiss my cheek, grinning like he had just won something important.
A quiet laugh slipped out of me despite everything still swirling in my chest. “I love you too, Toby.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me properly, his eyes bright and wide, his entire expression lit up with something so pure it almost hurt to look at.
“Did you hear?” he asked, barely able to contain himself. “Natalie and Greg are going to adopt me!”
For a second, my brain didn’t catch up.
Then it did.
And everything about the way he was holding onto me suddenly made sense.
“I’m getting a mom and dad, Zyan,” he added, his voice softer now but filled with a certainty that made my chest tighten. “They said I can stay forever.”
I tightened my arms around him without thinking, holding him a little closer. “That’s amazing, Toby,” I said quietly, meaning every word. “I’m really happy for you.”
“They won’t send me away,” he continued, like he needed to say it out loud to make it real. “They promised.”
“They won’t,” I told him gently. “You’re safe with them.”
He smiled at that, wide and unshaken, like there was no doubt left in his mind anymore. I hugged him one more time before setting him back down, and the second his feet hit the floor, the rest of my family closed in.
“Zyan!”
My mom didn’t hesitate.
She pulled me into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around me like she had been holding it in the entire performance. I stiffened for half a second before relaxing into it, my face heating up as Kyan, Sarah, and Gavin all started laughing nearby.
“You were incredible,” she said, her voice warm and slightly breathless as she held onto me. “Absolutely incredible.”
I shifted slightly, not really sure what to do with that. “I just—” I started, but the words didn’t really go anywhere.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still resting on my arms like she didn’t want to let go completely. Her eyes searched mine, full of something I wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of.
“Don’t you dare try to brush that off,” she said softly. “You were amazing, Zyan.”
I swallowed and nodded, my gaze dropping for a second before I forced myself to look back at her. I didn’t trust myself to say anything without it coming out wrong.
My dad stepped forward next, his presence quieter but just as solid. He pulled me into a firm hug, one hand settling against my back as he held me there for a moment longer than expected.
“All of that came out of you?” he asked as he leaned back, his tone filled with genuine disbelief.
I gave a small shrug, my shoulders lifting slightly as I looked down again. “I guess.”
He didn’t let that stand.
His hand came up, guiding my chin upward so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. His expression was steady, grounded, and completely serious in a way that made it hard to look away.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “That was one of the best things I’ve heard in a very long time.”
I hesitated, searching his face automatically, waiting for something—anything—that might suggest he didn’t mean it.
There was nothing there but certainty.
“I don’t lie, Zyan,” he added, his voice softening slightly. “I’m proud of you. Don’t ever hide that from us again.”
“Really?” I asked quietly, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
“Really,” he said, a small smile forming. “You had that entire room locked in. Nobody was looking anywhere else.”
“Not even me,” Sarah added immediately, stepping in with a grin. “And that says a lot.”
“Hey,” she continued, glancing at our dad, “don’t go comparing him to me like that. That’s just setting the bar unfairly high.”
My dad laughed, and the sound broke some of the tension that had been building in my chest.
“It’s true, though,” Sarah said, looking back at me. “You’re officially the singer of the family now. No debate.”
My face burned, and I looked away again, but this time I couldn’t stop the small smile that slipped through.
“I love you, dad,” I said softly.
“I love you too, Zyan,” he replied without hesitation.
Before the moment could settle too much, Sarah grabbed my arm, her energy shifting into something more focused.
“Alright,” she said, already pulling slightly. “Come on.”
I blinked at her. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said with a grin that made it clear I wasn’t getting anything else out of her.
Kyan snorted from behind us. “Yeah, good luck. She’s not breaking.”
“It’s not far,” Sarah added quickly, tugging me another step forward. “We’re not even leaving the building.”
I let her pull me along for a couple steps before she suddenly slowed.
“…Wait.”
I frowned slightly. “What?”
She was staring at me now, her expression shifting as something clicked into place. “I’ve heard you before.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I was here,” she said slowly, her voice losing some of its energy as she focused on the memory. “A couple months ago. I was visiting one of my professors, and I passed by the choir room. The door was open, and there was someone singing inside.”
She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me.
“That was you,” she said, more certain now. “I didn’t go in. I was running late. I just stood there for a minute and listened.”
I didn’t respond.
Didn’t really know how to.
“If I had just looked,” she continued, shaking her head faintly, “I would have known. I would have recognized you.”
“Sarah,” Kyan said, stepping in a little closer, his tone firmer now. “Stop.”
She blinked, like she had just come back to the present.
“Hey,” she said quickly, forcing a smile as she pulled me into a quick hug. “At least you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
I nodded, even if something in my chest twisted at the thought of how close that moment had been without any of us realizing it.
She pulled back and held her hand out again, her expression lighter now, more controlled.
“Come on,” she said. “I want you to meet someone.”
I hesitated for a second before taking her hand, letting her lead me away from the noise and the crowd, away from the chaos of the hallway and toward whatever she had planned next.
I followed Sarah through a quieter part of the building, and with every step we took, the noise from the concert faded further into the background. The laughter, the overlapping conversations, and the constant movement all slipped away until it was replaced by something calmer and more contained. The hallway we walked through felt almost untouched, like the rest of the school had forgotten it existed in the middle of everything else. Even the lighting seemed softer here, less harsh, as if this part of the building wasn’t meant for crowds.
“Is this a trick?” I asked quietly as she turned down another hallway I didn’t recognize. “Because it kind of feels like one.”
Sarah glanced back at me with a small laugh, clearly amused by the suspicion in my voice. “I would never do that to you, Zyan. Not tonight.”
She stopped in front of a set of double doors and pushed them open without hesitation.
The space beyond made me stop almost immediately.
It wasn’t just another room—it was a full theater, and it was bigger than the auditorium we had just performed in. The stage stretched wide in front of us, set up for an orchestra with rows of chairs arranged in a semicircle and percussion instruments lining the back. Music stands were positioned neatly in front of each seat, waiting in silence. The overhead lights cast a soft glow across everything, giving the entire room a quiet, almost reverent feeling that made it hard to even breathe too loudly.
But none of that held my attention for long.
The piano did.
It sat just off to the side of the conductor’s podium, black and polished to a mirror shine. The light reflected off its surface in a way that made it stand out against everything else in the room. It didn’t just belong there—it felt like the centerpiece, like everything else had been built around it.
I couldn’t look away.
“What if I told you that you could play it?” Sarah asked softly as she stepped closer to me.
I tore my gaze away just long enough to look at her. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” she said, her smile widening slightly. “Professor Waterson said it was fine.”
That was all it took.
I didn’t hesitate after that. I moved toward the stage like something inside me had already made the decision before I even realized it. I climbed the steps and crossed toward the piano, the rest of the room fading into the background with every step. Up close, it felt even more real—solid, grounded, like it had been waiting for someone to sit down and use it.
I lowered myself onto the bench slowly, my hands hovering just above the keys as I took a moment to breathe.
This didn’t feel like earlier.
There were no bright lights cutting me off from the room. No audience hidden in the darkness. No pressure building in my chest waiting to explode the moment I started.
The space felt open.
Quiet in a way that wasn’t empty, just… patient.
Like it was giving me time.
I took a slow breath and let it out carefully before lowering my hands. My fingers brushed the keys lightly before I pressed down.
The first note rang out, clear and full, echoing through the theater in a way that made the space feel even larger. It didn’t disappear right away. It carried, stretching out into the empty rows before coming back softer, like something answering me.
I paused just long enough to feel it settle.
Then I played again.
The melody came easily, like my hands remembered it without needing me to think about it. It was familiar in a way that felt steady, something I could fall into without hesitation.
“When I find myself in times of trouble… Mother Mary comes to me…”
My voice followed the music naturally, softer than it had been on stage but clearer in a different way. I didn’t have to force it. I didn’t have to project. It stayed close, grounded in the space around me instead of being thrown outward.
The words felt different here.
They weren’t part of a performance.
They were mine.
The memories came with them.
Not sharp.
Not painful in the same way as everything else.
Just… there.
A small house that felt warm instead of empty. Quiet mornings that didn’t feel heavy. The soft hum of voices that never rose in anger. Gentle hands brushing through my hair like I mattered.
Paul.
Martha.
Their names settled into my chest with a quiet weight. They didn’t hurt the way other memories did, but they still made something tighten inside me. They were part of something I had lost before I even understood what it meant to lose it. I could see them for a moment—the way they smiled at me, the way they looked at me like I belonged there without question.
My fingers slowed slightly against the keys, the melody wavering just enough for me to feel it.
I swallowed and kept playing.
I couldn’t stay there.
Not right now.
“Speaking words of wisdom… let it be…”
The music steadied under my hands again, grounding me in something real. When I opened my eyes, Sarah was beside me. I hadn’t even noticed her move. Her violin was already in place as she joined in, the sound blending into the piano like it had always been there.
She didn’t overpower me.
She didn’t take control.
She just added to it.
“Let it be… let it be…”
The words felt different now. Not like something I was holding onto for survival, but something I was trying to understand. Something I was learning how to believe.
“There will be an answer… let it be…”
I focused forward instead of backward. On the stage in front of me. On the empty seats. On everything that was still ahead instead of everything I had already lost.
My voice steadied, growing stronger without forcing it. The music carried it instead of me pushing it forward.
Sarah stayed with me through the final lines, her violin rising and falling beside me before gradually fading away, leaving me alone with the piano again.
“Whisper words of wisdom… let it be…”
The final notes softened under my fingers, stretching into the quiet before fading completely.
I didn’t move right away.
I just sat there, letting the silence settle around me instead of rushing to fill it. My hands rested lightly on the keys, and for once, the quiet didn’t feel empty.
It felt… steady.
Then Sarah wrapped her arms around me.
“That was beautiful, Zyan,” she said warmly.
“You helped,” I replied quietly.
She pulled back just enough to look at me and shook her head with a soft laugh. “You really need to learn how to take some credit. All I did was harmonize with you. That was you.”
I looked down at the keys, unsure how to respond.
“It’s a good thing we have a piano at the house,” she added casually.
I blinked and looked up at her. “We do?”
She stared at me for a second before laughing. “Haven’t you explored your own house yet, baby brother?”
I looked away, my face warming as I tried to find something to say. I didn’t know how to tell her that it didn’t feel like home yet. Even with everything they had given me, everything they were trying to give me, it still felt like I was just… there.
She reached out and gently tilted my chin back toward her.
“That house is yours just as much as it is mine,” she said softly. “I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow. Every room. No excuses.”
I nodded.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I said quietly.
She smiled. “It was my pleasure—”
“It was mine, as well,” a deep bass voice called out from the darkness of the auditorium.
I jumped and turned toward the sound before I could stop myself, my heart kicking sharply in my chest. For a split second, my body reacted on instinct, but Sarah’s arm tightened around me, holding me in place.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “It’s okay.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus, squinting into the dim light as a heavy-set man with glasses stepped out of the shadows and began walking down the center aisle toward the stage. He moved with a calm, steady confidence, completely unhurried.
He stopped just in front of the piano and looked up at me with a small smile.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “My name is Professor George Waterson. You must be Zyan Montgomery.”
I nodded, speechless.
“Professor Waterson,” Sarah added beside me.
“The way you play,” he continued, “and the way you interpret what you’re playing… that isn’t something easily taught. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that.”
I felt my face warm. “It’s okay,” I said quietly.
“I’d like to see you at rehearsal on Tuesday,” he said. “I think there’s a place for you here.”
“We’ll be there,” Sarah answered immediately.
He nodded and turned to leave, but paused briefly. “Make sure that you take your brother on a tour of that house of yours.”
Sarah laughed softly. “Of course, Professor Waterson.”
Once he disappeared, she nudged me lightly. “Come on. Let’s get you back. Mom and dad are going to lose it when they hear about this.”
“Really?” I asked as she led me toward the door.
“Absolutely,” she said with a grin. “Mom was completely dumbfounded during the concert. You’re lucky you were on stage, because she would’ve smothered you.”
I blushed. “I don’t mind the hugs and kisses.”
She laughed. “You will by the end of the summer. Kyan and I already talked about all of this.”
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
“We didn’t want you thinking we’d be jealous,” she said, her tone softening. “The only thing we’re going to be jealous of is not getting enough time with you.”
Before I could respond, she pulled me into another tight hug.
“I love you, Sarah,” I whispered.
She froze for just a second before tightening her arms around me.
“Now I see why mom and dad have such a hard time letting you go,” she said quietly. “All it took was three little words, and you’ve already worked your way right back into my heart like you never left. I love you too, Zyan.”
She finally pulled back and took my hand again, leading me the rest of the way out.
When we stepped back into the front area of the school, I immediately saw them.
Kyan was waiting near the doors with Natalie, Greg, Toby, and Gavin. He pushed off the wall the second he saw me, a small grin forming on his face.
“There you are,” he said. “Took you long enough.”
Before I could respond, my mom was already pulling me into a tight hug.
“There you are,” she said warmly. “I was starting to think Sarah kidnapped you.”
“Just borrowing him,” Sarah replied easily.
My dad stepped forward, resting a hand on my shoulder before pulling me into a firm hug.
“You ready to head out, buddy?” he asked.
I nodded.
“We’ll see you in the morning,” he said quietly.
“Okay.”
My mom hugged me again, just as tight. “I love you, baby boy.”
“I love you too, mom.”
She kissed my cheek before finally letting me go.
“Come on,” Kyan said as he bumped his shoulder into mine. “Let’s go.”
“Goodnight,” I said softly.
“Goodnight, Zyan,” my dad replied.
“Goodnight, baby boy,” my mom added.
I turned and walked with Kyan toward Natalie and Greg, Toby already bouncing with energy and Gavin watching quietly beside them.
“Ready?” Natalie asked gently.
“Yeah,” I said.
And this time, when we stepped out into the night together, it felt like I was moving forward instead of looking back.