When the plane landed in Los Angeles, Eleanor felt as though she had stepped into a completely different world. Bustling, noisy, and radiant. A young assistant named Amanda greeted her at the airport, holding a sign.
Eleanor Harper Contestant. First time on TV? Amanda smiled without looking up from her phone. Seems like it, Eleanor replied softly, doubts rising in her chest.
The recording center felt like a colorful maze. Long hallways, gleaming glass doors, groups of young people chatting animatedly, heavily made-up faces, dancers rehearsing in corners. Among it all, Eleanor felt like a breeze lost in a storm.
The makeup room was crowded. A makeup artist approached and looked her up and down. I’m Lexi.
Today we’ll give you a perfect on-camera look. Less than two hours later, Eleanor barely recognized herself in the mirror. Silver hair styled into soft waves.
Her eyes gently highlighted with bronze eyeshadow. Pale pink lips, just enough to stand out while still appearing dignified. Hope you’re happy with it.
It’s… Unfamiliar but nice, Eleanor smiled gently. In the waiting area, she sat alone, feeling anxious. That was when a young woman with purple-dyed hair and sparkling piercings sat down next to her.
I’m Zoe. I saw you singing at the church in that video. You’re the church lady, right? You could call me that.
You know, this show always includes one older person for the emotional moment. That’s how they produce it. Eleanor paused.
Are you serious? I used to be a backstage assistant for a season. You’re not the first to be labeled a sympathy act. But if your voice is anything like that video, maybe they picked the wrong old lady this time.
Eleanor looked at Zoe, her eyes unexpectedly glistening. The song I chose is at last it was his favorite. Zoe nodded with admiration.
That’s a tough one. But if you believe in what you’re singing, make them regret underestimating… You. Night fell outside the studio, but inside the light still blazed.
The rapid clicking of cameras, the hurried tapping of high heels on tiled floors, the producers calling out to each other in the corridors, all created a whirlwind that made Eleanor feel as if she were lost in a maze of other people’s dreams. She sat in a small waiting room, her suitcase neatly beside her, the printed lyrics of at last laid out on the table, a song she had sung hundreds of times in her life, but never in public. Only Richard had ever been her faithful audience, sitting in his armchair holding a cup of tea, smiling at her as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.
The door creaked open. Mom. Lily stepped in, her face radiant.
She had driven through the night from Oregon just to be with her mother before this moment. What are you doing here? You’ve got a surgery scheduled tomorrow, Eleanor exclaimed in surprise. I postponed it, Lily said, pulling her mother into a tight hug.
This is the moment when you need me more than any operation does. They sat side by side, hand in hand. Eleanor whispered, I feel like an imposter, Lily.
Everyone out there is talented, young, and me. I’m just an old lady who sings in her bathroom. No, you’re the one who taught me that music doesn’t need a big stage or a full audience.
It only needs to be sincere. Lily looked at her mother seriously, then pulled out her phone. I want you to see this.
She played the video Ruthie had recorded. The image was grainy, the sound imperfect. But what made Eleanor freeze was the faces of those who were listening.
Elderly men and women in the church pews, well-behaved children sitting quietly, all with eyes glistening. Some had their heads. In their hands, others closed their eyes as if soothed by something sacred.
That’s the power of your voice, Lily whispered. It’s not about technique. It’s about emotion.
It’s about truth. Eleanor stayed silent for a long moment. When a production assistant knocked and announced she had 15 minutes left, she stood up, exhaling as if releasing a weight.
All right. I won’t back down, Lily smiled, wiping the corner of her eye. I’ve always known you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.
After Lily left, Eleanor looked at herself in the mirror. She was no longer the old woman with a broken dream. No longer the student who once wept in Professor James Winters’ office when he bluntly said, You don’t have fire.
You don’t have what makes people remember. That day, Eleanor had left the music department, convincing herself she wasn’t good enough. But today, those cruel words would no longer be the final thing she heard about herself.
She adjusted. The collar of her dress pressed her lips together and applied a touch of rose-colored lipstick. Ready, she said to herself.