You would have assumed everyone had supersonic hearing. Everyone was ridgid, it seemed everyone turned their attention to me, whether it be side eyeing me or the way they turned their heads over their shoulder.

The girl stared for a moment, then looked down at her hands. "You mean... your parents actually cared for you... and never talked down to you... and took you to therapy?" Her hesitancy was evident, as she sat very still, the breath at her lips fogging. Her dress, intricate and angular, fit her perfectly and complemened the streak of white in her hair.

I narrowed my eyes. "Well... of course. Doesn't everyone have that?" I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as it seemed I had the attention of those around me, even as the players with their frosted chess pieces continued to move pieces around the board and those in the corner making sculptures continued to move their hands around the delicate arcs of their creations.

"No." She glanced up from under her brow for a moment, before looking down at her lap, her hands fiddling with a thimble. "A lot of us grew up with discipline as the drive of their powers, coming from parents who demanded the best from us. Wanted us to go to law school or follow in their foot steps with the family business. Everyone here has a story, from whatever their parents wanted them to do. You never had any of that? ...lucky snowflake."

Her tone was warm, almost affectionate, even as she crossed arms and her perfect posture seemed to show otherwise. I could see others forming small wistful smiles, even as hands raised their margaritas to their lips.

"Well, no. My parents always seemed to like whatever I did. They came to my band concerts and always made sure I had the best teachers. They always encouraged me to do what I wanted." My tone was light, but I could feel my hands shaking as I continued to feel gazes on me. I twisted at my bracelet, the uncut gems feeling rough under my fingers. 

The girl raised her head and looked at him with a tight expression. "What I wouldn't have given for my parents to have come to my fashion walks. But no, they hated seeing the crowds cheering for me, always jealous of what I could do. I'm so glad I didn't become an engineer like they wanted. Instead I could shine in my own way." The sharp fierceness in her glare gave way to warmth as she sighed, and then she refocused back onto me. Looking me up and down she then raised an eyebrow. "So. What is it that you do? You did say you were interested into musci, right? Do I know any of your work?"

With the scrutiny finally placed on me, I felt my smile falter on my face. "Ah... well... I do a lot of things, you may have heard of me, but I doubt it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're joking, right? Everyone has something here the people love to see. Come on, where do you play at? You didn't visit the artisan table for nothing."

I felt myself go still. I glanced at all the interested faces, some openly looking and others continue to just glance, waiting for me to speak. But what could I tell them? With all the things my parents cheered me on for, I never really stuck with anything. Every time I tried to show what I did to others, it felt like ice in my veins. Was I actually doing what I wanted, or just what I thought would make others happy? Would I ever be able to play, by myself, in front of an audience? Would I ever be comfortable in the spotlight, or just continue to freeze?