Daniel Emanuel Guevarra

Things started to change with Alex—not just between us, but with the whole choir. He was still Alex: sarcastic, cocky, and hard to read. But now, he was slowly bonding with the group. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to see him differently. He wasn't just the guy who pushed his way into our choir. He was... more complicated than that.

The problem was, I kept thinking about him. Way too much. He was always in the back of my mind. I'd catch myself watching him rehearse, his face serious for once, eyes focused on the music instead of hiding behind his usual smirk. It unsettled me—and if I'm honest, it intrigued me too.

It was a cold Monday afternoon when Mr. Bocelli gathered us together. He walked into the choir room with a clipboard and a huge grin, and right away, I knew something big was coming.

"Alright, everyone. I've got some exciting news."

The room quieted down. Even Alex, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, lifted an eyebrow.

"I've submitted an application for us to perform at the Regional Choir Showcase next month, and we got accepted!"

The room erupted in excitement. The Regional Choir Showcase was a big deal; choirs from all over the place would be there, and it was an opportunity to make a name for ourselves once again.

"Yes! Finally, a real stage!" Lucy squealed, her face lighting up with excitement.

"We'll be performing in front of some pretty important people," Mr. Bocelli continued. "Judges from prestigious music schools, potential scholarship opportunities, this could be a huge step for all of you."

I glanced at Alex. He didn't show much, but I thought I caught a flicker of interest in his eyes.

"But," Mr. Bocelli went on, his voice firm now, "this means serious work. The competition is tough, and we'll need to give our very best."

Determination filled me, but my eyes went back to Alex. I couldn't help but wonder—would he care enough to give it his all?

After rehearsal, I left the building with Alex walking a few steps behind me. The silence between us was heavy, so I slowed down until he caught up.

"So... what do you think?" I asked, my voice almost too soft.

"About what?" he muttered.

"The Regional Showcase," I said, trying to keep my tone casual, even though my pulse quickened at the thought. "It's a big deal. You don't seem all that excited."

Alex scoffed. "It's okay, I guess."

I frowned. "Seriously? This could mean scholarships, connections, all kinds of opportunities."

He suddenly stopped walking. His face tightened. "And what if I don't care about those?"

I froze, not sure I heard right. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt. "Look, I get that you're all excited to be performing and whatnot, but doing competitions is something I don't want to do."

"But we need you for us to be able to perform," I retorted, my voice rising involuntarily. "Do you want to disappoint the other members and Mr. Bocelli?"

"That's not my problem; it's theirs," he shot back, the edge in his voice sending a jolt through me.

I stared at him, trying to untangle the knots of his feelings. "Alex, please just tell me why you're so against the competition. It's not like you're performing alone; you have us. For once, Alex, think about the others. I thought you f*cking changed!"

"It's because of them!" he screamed, his voice breaking through the air like a thunderclap. Everything fell silent, as if the whole world paused to absorb the weight of his words. He let out a huge sigh before continuing, "It reminds me of... them—my parents. The people who shoved music in my face as if it's the most important thing rather than their own child. They would constantly sign me up for various contests without even asking me if I wanted to join. I just... I just—"

Before I knew it, I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around him tightly. His body went stiff at the suddenness of my embrace, but soon he relaxed, his tension seeping away like sand through his fingers.

"You're not just what your parents made you," I said firmly. "You're more than that. And whether you admit it or not, you love singing. You wouldn't be this good if you didn't."

Alex looked at me, conflicted. His voice was quieter now. "But music doesn't mean to me what it does to you."

His words stung, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Then why are you here? Why join us at all?"

For a moment, I thought I'd pushed him too far. The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick, like the air before a storm. But then Alex's eyes softened, just slightly, revealing a glimpse of the person hidden beneath layers of sarcasm.

"Honestly? I don't know anymore. At first, I just wanted to mess up the group, but now... It's different, I guess."

Something in me eased at that, even though part of me still wanted to push harder. Instead, I let out a breath. "Whatever your reason is, I hope you stay. We need you, Alex. You're part of this group now."

He didn't answer. He just walked ahead, leaving me standing there with the weight of his words and my own feelings pressing down on me.

The week that followed was brutal. Mr. Bocelli pushed us harder than ever. Hours of practice, endless fine-tuning. The stress was showing. People snapped at each other, tempers flared, and the bond of the choir started to fray.

And then there was Alex. Some days, he was focused, his voice blending perfectly, even offering smart suggestions. Other days, he was late, distant, his cocky attitude sliding back like armor. He was unpredictable. And it drove me crazy.

One afternoon, after a long rehearsal, I caught up to him.

"Alex," I called out.

He turned, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You okay? You've been... off."

He smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You worry about me too much."

"I just want to make sure you're alright," I pressed.

"It's nothing. Just... stuff."

I frowned. "You can talk to me, you know."

For a second, I thought he might. His eyes softened, but then he shut down again, shaking his head.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

I let it go, but I didn't believe him.

===================================

Two days before the showcase, during a particularly intense rehearsal, Alex and I finally clashed.

We were working on a difficult harmony, and tensions were running high. Alex had been unusually quiet all day, but when Mr. Bocelli asked him to adjust his timing, he suddenly snapped.

"Can you stop telling me what to do for one second?!" Alex snapped, his voice sharper than I'd ever heard it.

Mr. Bocelli blinked, taken aback. "Alex, I'm not nitpicking. I'm trying to help you improve."

"Well, maybe I don't need your help!" he shot back, his face flushed with anger.

The silence was crushing.

"Alex," Lucy said softly, "he's just—"

"Don't start, Lucy. Your part's the easiest and you still mess it up!"

Frustration exploded in me. "Enough, Alex! We're all trying, and you're acting like—"

"Like what?" he cut in, his voice low and sharp. "Like I don't belong here? Like I don't care?"

"T-that's not what I meant," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Alex just cooperate for a while, the contest is getting near."

His jaw clenched. Then he stepped closer, his words like ice. "You don't know me, Daniel. So stop pretending you do."

The words cut deeper than I expected. And before I could answer, he stormed out.

That night, lying in bed, his words replayed in my head.

You don't know me.

And maybe he was right. But why did it hurt so much? Why did I care so much?

I buried my face in my pillow, groaning. Alex was supposed to be the problem. Not... whatever this was.

But the truth was clear, even if I didn't want to admit it.

I cared about him.

And that terrified me.