Elliot’s POV:

The applause still rings in my ears as I linger backstage. The rest of the cast has already changed and left for the after-party.

“Elliot? You coming?” Mara pokes her head through the doorway. She’s already changed.

“Yeah, in a bit,” I say. I’m still holding a prop: Javert’s police ledger from our just-completed run of “Les Misérables.” “Just need a minute.”

She hesitates. “Don’t take too long. Dennis is buying the first round.”

“I’ll be there,” I lie, knowing I won’t.

When the door closes, I let out an exhale. The theater is quiet, and the audience is gone. I’m still half in my costume. My stage makeup makes me look older than twenty-eight. I should be changing, should be joining my cast mates for celebratory drinks.

Instead, I pull out my phone and open the email that’s been in my inbox for weeks: “Deer Lake Conservatory – Application Deadline Reminder.”

Since I got it, I’ve been imagining different versions of my life. There’s one where I stay at my marketing job forever and make banner ads for discount furniture stores until I die. Or the one where I take a risk that terrifies me.

I scroll through the requirements again. Most of it is doable, but the video…that’s the part that keeps me from moving forward. Two minutes of talking about why I want to go to Deer Lake.

Because the thought of never doing this again makes my chest physically ache.

I couldn’t say that out loud, especially not to Jess. Five years together, and she still thinks acting is just my hobby. She’s already planning our future: a house in the Boston suburbs, the golden retriever, the 401k. The reasonable, responsible path.

“You still here?” The voice startled me. It’s Kevin, our director. He’s in the doorway.

“Just…decompressing,” I say as I lock my phone screen.

He nods. “It’s always hard after a closing night. Especially when it’s a good run.”

“Yeah.”

He steps in and sets his bag down. “You know, you were surprising in this role.”

“How so?” I tense and brace myself for criticism.

“You committed. Most guys who come in from office jobs hold back. Too afraid to look foolish or something…You jumped into the Seine like you had nothing to lose.”

I laugh. “Maybe I don’t.”

“Everyone has something to lose, Elliot.” He studies me for a moment. “But sometimes what you gain is worth the risk.”

I wonder if he somehow knows about Deer Lake.

“You should consider training,” he finally says. “You’ve got the raw talent, but you could be so much better with the right coaching.”

“Any recommendations?”

“Depends. Local classes can be good. But if you’re serious…” He trails off.

I should tell him. Say the words out loud: I’m thinking of applying to Deer Lake. But I know what that means. I’d be leaving my life behind for a dream that might not work out.

So, I can’t make myself form the words.

“I should get going,” I say, instead. Jess is waiting.

Kevin nods, but he seems disappointed. “Sure. Well, it’s been great working with you these past few months. You should be proud.”

As I change out of my costume, my phone buzzes with a text from Jess:

How was the last show? Still need to finish my presentation for tomorrow. Left dinner in the fridge.

I stare at the screen, at the life summarized in one text. The girlfriend who “supported” my hobby but married her career with the leftovers waiting in our shared apartment.

I type back:

Show went great. Heading home soon.

Instead of driving to the cast party, I find myself parked outside my apartment building. The engine is off. I can see our living room window from here. It’s dark. Jess must be working in the back office.

I pull out my phone and open the camera app. The dashboard clock reads 11:23 PM. Just barely more than 48 hours until the deadline.

It’s now or never.

I prop my phone up on my dash and angle myself, so the streetlight hits my face. I run a hand through my hair, it’s still stiff with product, and straighten my collar.

My face appears on the screen, and I look too stiff. I loosen my collar, unbutton the top button of my shirt, and ease my muscles.

Record.

“Hi, I’m Elliot Vian, and I’m applying for Deer Lake Conservatory.”

A car pulls into the lot and the headlights sweep across me. I duck. The car parks three spaces down, and a couple gets out. They laugh as they head toward their apartment.

Once they’re gone, I straighten up, feeling foolish. Why am I hiding in my own car like I’m having an illicit affair?

Because it’s more than an application.

I take a deep breath and try again, hoping no rogue cars will interrupt.

“My grandmother came from Cuba with only a suitcase and a picture of her parents.”

I pause, surprised by my own opening. I hadn’t planned to start with her.

“She worked three jobs to put my dad through school. Used to tell him, ‘I didn’t leave everything behind so you could be complacent.’”

I smile as I remember how she’d pinch my cheeks too hard and slip me butterscotch candies.

“When I told her I got promoted at my job, she just said, "That’s nice. Are you happy?"

I shift in my seat.

“I lied and said yes. But then…”

My phone buzzes with a text. Jess again.

Heading to bed soon. You still out?

I stop the recording. I’ll have to start again.

I type back:

Just leaving. Cast wanted to get a celebratory drink. Be home in 30.

I hit record again, say the same lines until I’m back where I left off.

“I had my first panic attack in the bathroom at work soon after. Quarterly review meetings, everyone talking about sales projections. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember why it all mattered.”

I pause; my throat is tight with the memory.

“My friend dragged me to an audition the next weekend. Said I needed something outside of work. I hadn’t acted since high school. Figured I’d embarrass myself.”

The memory of that first audition floods back in.

“I got the part. It was a small role, only a few lines. But during our first performance, I wasn’t thinking about deadlines or metrics or projections. I was just…present. Completely present.”

I laugh softly.

“After the show, I sat in my car and cried. I wasn’t sad. It was just the first time in years that I felt something real.”

My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it.

“My grandmother told me she didn’t come to America so that I could be on antidepressants. I thought it was a joke, but…”

I look into the camera as something erupts in my chest.

“I’ve spent my adult life unhappy. Taking the stable job. Making the responsible choice. And I thought that it was enough.”

I pause as my words catch in my throat.

“But it’s not. And I can’t pretend anymore.”

Suddenly, my car feels too small. I need air. I need space. I need this.

“My grandmother crossed the ocean for her dream of a better life for her family. The least I can do is to be brave enough to try.”

I take a deep breath and steady myself.

“I won't let you down.”

I reach out and stop the recording. For several seconds, I sit there and just listen to the distant sounds of the city at night.

My phone lights up with another text from Jess:

??????

I ignore it and navigate to the Deer Lake application portal. The form is nearly complete. I’d filled most of it out during one lunch break. All that’s missing is the video.

I click “Upload” and a progress bar appears. 12%...18%...24%...

My phone rings. Jess’ face appears on the screen.

37%...52%...68%...

What am I doing? If I’m accepted, I’d have to tell Jess that the future she’s been planning isn’t the one that I want.

83%...91%...99%

Upload complete.

There’s one final button: “Submit Application.”

As my thumb hovers over it, I think of my grandmother again. And I press submit.

As I get out of my car, I rehearse excuses in my head for why I’m so late. The cast party ran long. We lost track of time. My phone was on silent.

I find Jess asleep in our bed. I watch her for a moment. Five years together, and I still find her beautiful. But the guilt eats at me, knowing what might be coming.

I kiss her forehead. She stirs but doesn’t wake. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone. I skim the Deer Lake confirmation email as proof I actually did it.

Part of me wants to share this moment with someone. To call my best friend, or even Kevin, and say, “I took the leap.” But I don’t want to expose it to anyone else’s opinion yet.

This is mine. My decision, my future.

Tomorrow, I’ll act like nothing has changed.

For her, nothing has. For me, everything has.