Haruka stood in the centre of the rehearsal room, her breath steadying after a gruelling practice session. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, the ache in her muscles a reminder of how far she had come in such a short time. It was no longer strange to see herself in this space, moving in sync with the other members of Aqua Notes. The transition from composer to performer, once daunting, was now starting to feel natural.
As she caught her breath, Haruka's thoughts drifted back to her childhood—memories she had carefully buried over the years. But now, with each passing day, those memories came rushing back, clearer and more vibrant. She could see herself and Shizuku sitting under the large oak tree in the park, a sketchbook in one hand and a microphone in the other.
They had spent hours dreaming together under that tree, Shizuku always more animated than Haruka, her younger twin. Shizuku had a boundless energy, always imagining grand stages and bright lights, while Haruka quietly supported from behind, content to compose songs for her sister's performances. But now, looking back, Haruka realized those dreams had never just been Shizuku's. They had always belonged to both of them.
"Shizuku wanted this too," Haruka whispered to herself, her heart swelling with a bittersweet warmth. The memory of her sister laughing and dancing in the park came rushing back, so vivid that it felt like she could still hear Shizuku's voice.
"You okay?" Rin's voice interrupted her reverie, and Haruka blinked, pulling herself back to the present.
"Yeah, just... thinking," Haruka replied, her voice soft.
Rin stretched beside her, flashing a grin. "You've been killing it lately, you know that? You're starting to look like one of us up there!"
Haruka laughed, feeling a flicker of pride at the compliment. It was still surreal to hear words like that, to be recognized as part of the group not just as their composer, but as a fellow performer.
"Thanks," she said, her smile genuine. "It feels... different now. I guess I'm getting used to it."
As they prepared to leave the studio, Haruka glanced out of the window, the city lights twinkling against the night sky. She thought of Shizuku again, of their shared dream, and how it had shaped her entire life without her even realizing it. The weight of guilt she had carried for so long—guilt for surviving, for continuing when Shizuku couldn't—was starting to lift. She could finally see that it wasn't just her twin's dream she was living. It was hers too.
Back at her apartment, Haruka found herself sitting at the piano, fingers tracing the keys absently. It was late, but she wasn't ready to sleep. The melody of a new song danced in her mind, and as she played the first few notes, the emotions she had been wrestling with began to take shape in the music. The song was soft, but filled with hope, a reflection of the love she had for her sister and the joy she now found in fulfilling both of their dreams.
For so long, Haruka had felt like she was carrying the weight of the past on her shoulders, but now it felt different. It wasn't a burden anymore—it was a part of who she was, a part of the music she created and the performances she was learning to embrace. Her memories of Shizuku weren't just shadows of a life cut short—they were the foundation of her future.
The next morning, Haruka arrived early at the studio, feeling lighter than she had in years. She found Yui already warming up, and as Haruka joined her, Yui raised an eyebrow.
"Someone's in a good mood today," Yui teased.
Haruka laughed. "I think I'm finally starting to enjoy this."
Yui nodded, her smile brightening. "That's what it's all about, isn't it?"
As the rest of Aqua Notes trickled into the studio, Haruka felt a growing sense of belonging. They were preparing for their next big performance, and though they didn't know the full story behind Haruka's drive, they supported her with an unwavering confidence that gave her strength. Each practice, each song, was a step toward something bigger.
Haruka wasn't just a composer anymore, hiding behind the melodies and lyrics. She was a performer, sharing the stage with her friends, sharing her story through both song and movement. Her past, once tangled and painful, was now something she could embrace—something that pushed her forward rather than held her back.
As the music started, and Haruka moved in sync with the others, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. The memories of her childhood, of Shizuku's laughter and the promises they had made, intertwined with the present moment. She wasn't alone on this journey. Shizuku's dreams were still alive within her, but they weren't a burden anymore. They were a gift.
And for the first time in a long time, Haruka allowed herself to feel the joy that came with chasing her dreams—not just for Shizuku, but for herself.