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Chapter 5 - Chapter 6: when the applause Fades

The spotlight was warm, but my hands were ice.

I could hear my name echoing in the auditorium, followed by the sound of clapping — not polite claps, real claps. The kind that hit in waves. The kind that said, She's not just here, she's good.

I stepped up to the podium.

The debate theme? "Social media does more harm than good."

I was arguing for the affirmative.

But this wasn't about the topic anymore.

This was about me.

My voice.

My place.

My turn.

---

I took a breath and spoke.

Not too fast. Not too soft. I'd practiced this, but it didn't feel like practice. It felt like release.

Every point I made felt like reclaiming something I'd been holding inside for years — every statistic, every example, every line crafted with the edge of a girl who had spent way too long not being heard.

And when I finished, there was a pause.

The kind of pause people give when they've just been hit by truth.

Then: applause. Real, thunderous applause.

I stepped back from the mic, and for a moment — I swear — everything stopped.

---

After the winners were announced (I did win, though it felt like a blur), people started filing out of the auditorium. Everyone was talking at once. Congratulating me. A few even asked to take pictures.

But in the back corner of the room, I caught Christabel.

Still.

Alone.

She wasn't clapping anymore.

Just watching.

And for the first time, I couldn't tell what she was thinking.

---

Later that evening, I slipped out before the after-party crowd formed. I wasn't in the mood for noise. I just wanted… quiet.

But he was waiting for me again.

Dami.

Leaning against the side of the building like some teen-movie cliché. Jacket half-zipped, eyes steady, smile lazy.

"You disappear fast for someone who just made history," he said.

"I don't like being the center of attention," I replied.

He arched a brow. "You fooled us all, then."

I rolled my eyes, but he kept looking at me — not like I was a mystery, but like I was something he wanted to understand better.

"You were brilliant today," he added, softer this time.

"Thanks," I said.

But he didn't move.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

I nodded.

He leaned in slightly. "When did you get so… sure of yourself?"

I looked at him, really looked — the soft brown eyes, the quiet curiosity in them, the way he wasn't asking to flatter me. He meant it.

"I think," I said, "I was always sure. I just stopped asking for permission."

He smiled at that. "Dangerous."

"Maybe."

A pause.

Then — his hand brushed mine. Just lightly. Not bold. Not demanding.

But enough.

Enough to feel like the beginning of something.

---

I was still thinking about that moment when I opened my phone later and saw the message.

Christabel:

> So that's it?

You win something and suddenly I don't exist?

I stared at it.

Not anger. Not heartbreak. Just that hollow, sick feeling that comes when something finally breaks all the way through.

Christabel:

> I clapped for you.

I sat in the front row for you.

But you didn't even look at me.

And she wasn't wrong.

I hadn't.

Not once.

---

I didn't reply.

Not right away.

Instead, I sat in the dark with Dami's words in my head and Christabel's silence crumbling into pieces inside my chest.

I'd stepped into the light.

But now the people I loved were burning in its heat.

And I didn't know how to stop it.

---

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