Selene's POV
The morning sunlight spilled across the wooden floor of our living room, warming the space where laughter and chatter had started to stir. I walked in slowly, cradling a mug of chamomile tea, just as Mira's voice rang out—high, breathless, somewhere between disbelief and joy.
She stood in the center of the room, her phone in one hand and a letter in the other. Her cheeks were flushed, her fingers trembling slightly.
Amara stood beside her, quiet but visibly holding her breath. Antonio, Ayra, and Eliot had just arrived, pulling off jackets and shoes, unaware of the moment unfolding. But the second Mira spoke again—clearer this time—the entire room paused.
"I got in," she said, eyes wide, lips trembling. "The Royal Conservatory of Vienna. And… they're giving me a full scholarship."
The words dropped into silence, but only for a beat. Then chaos.
Ayra shrieked, rushing forward to wrap her in a hug that nearly knocked her off balance. Eliot clapped and let out a loud cheer, while Antonio gave a proud, satisfied smile and nudged Amara forward. She didn't hesitate this time—she pulled Mira into a long, quiet hug, whispering something only they could hear.
I walked up, my heart pounding with something between awe and pride. "Mira," I said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder, "you've always had music in your bones. This was inevitable."
"I didn't believe in myself," she admitted, teary-eyed. "But… I kept playing. And I kept dreaming."
"You believed enough to keep trying," Amara said. "That's what matters."
Later that evening, the rooftop became our celebration hall. Ayra had scattered fairy lights around the railings, and Eliot played soft acoustic jazz from his phone, resting beside the open windows.
Mira stood under the stars, violin in hand, her curls loose and face open to the wind. She wasn't nervous. She was glowing.
When she played, the world went still. Her bow danced across the strings like silk, weaving a melody that made my throat tighten. It wasn't just a song—it was a story. Of persistence. Of dreams dared. Of the silent work behind closed doors finally breaking into the light.
Antonio stepped closer to me, slipping his fingers into mine. "Feels like this is just the beginning," he whispered.
I nodded. "For all of us."
And as Mira played under the moon, the music wrapped around us like a promise. That we were all growing, all evolving. And that sometimes, one person's leap of faith reminded the rest of us that our own dreams were still waiting.
Tonight, Mira soared. And watching her fly… felt like hope.
The quiet hum of the evening filled our home, soft piano notes playing from Mira's room—her usual way of grounding herself. I stood by the open door, watching her sit poised at her desk, earbuds in, laptop open, eyes bright. She was in mid-conversation, her French accent melting gently into English as she spoke to someone on the other side of the call.
"Yes, I've received the scholarship letter. Thank you so much," she said, cheeks flushed, voice steady but glowing with awe. "The repertoire you requested—I've started rehearsing. And… I'd love to incorporate something special for the audition showcase."
She paused, listening intently. I couldn't hear the other voice, but I could feel the energy radiating through the doorway.
Mira nodded, then smiled. "Actually… I'd love to suggest something a little different. A duet. Not just instrumental—but a collaboration of dance and voice. My twin sister Amara is a contemporary dancer. We've always dreamed of creating something together."
Her voice quivered slightly on that last line, and I felt my chest catch.
There was silence. Then Mira's eyes widened.
"Yes—really? You'd consider it?" Her breath hitched in delight. "Thank you. I'll send the concept video in three days."
The call ended and Mira turned, eyes shining.
"They said yes," she breathed.
Within minutes, Amara was in the room, still in her practice sweats, hair tied up in a loose bun. Mira explained everything, her hands fluttering with excitement, her voice trembling with gratitude.
"They want me to perform a final showcase before I begin officially in the fall," she said. "And they said the duet idea—music and dance—is bold, emotional, unique. They're excited."
Amara's lips parted in stunned silence, then curved into the kind of smile that only sisters who've shared every step of a dream could wear.
"So we'll finally do it?" Amara whispered. "Like we always said we would… with your music, and my dance."
Mira nodded, tears pooling in her eyes. "We're not just showing them a performance. We're showing them who we are."
The next few days were a whirlwind of rehearsals, sketching choreography in the living room, soundproofing corners with pillows, Antonio helping with lighting suggestions, and Ayra filming practice runs with Eliot giving direction behind the camera.
On the final night, they rehearsed under fairy lights on our rooftop. Mira played an original piece—soft piano melting into vocals that fluttered like a lullaby spun from starlight. Amara danced barefoot, fluid, expressive, her every movement echoing the music's emotion.
It wasn't just beautiful. It was transcendent.
I watched, breath held, as they moved in harmony—twins, yes—but tonight, it felt like watching two elements of the same soul performing in separate forms. Grace and voice. Wind and fire.
When the final note hung in the air, Antonio's arm slid around my waist. "They'll remember this," he said quietly.
"They won't just remember," I whispered back. "They'll feel it."