Page 51 of Rush

But Ava…she’s genuine.

And if someone like her believes in me, then maybe—I should start giving myself a little more credit.

“Thanks. Coming from you that meanseverything.”

She bumps my shoulder like we’re just two girls hanging out, not two women about to step on one of the biggest stages in the world.

“Hey, anytime. And listen, if you freak out before we go on, my dressing room’s always stocked with booze and gummy bears.”

I laugh, some of the tension melting away. “Good to know.”

“Come on.” She loops her arm through mine and tugs me toward the stage. “Let’s get to soundcheck.”

After soundcheck, back in my dressing room, it’s quiet.

Almosttooquiet. I sit on the couch, fiddling with a guitar pick, when a wave of emotion sneaks up out of nowhere.

The last time I felt this kind of nervous excitement was the finale ofStartstruck Australia, when I was standing on the edge of victory, she was there.Mom.

The sterile scent of the hospital room clung to everything—my clothes, my skin, my heart.

My phone buzzed relentlessly with unanswered messages and calls about my single, the album, the press engagements and interviews, but none of that mattered.

Not now.

Not while my mom lay in that bed—too pale, too thin, still trying to smile like she wasn’t slipping away right in front of me.

The doctors warned us she didn’t have long. “We’ll make her as comfortable as we can.”

She was a shell of the person she used to be—the most beautiful woman I had ever known, who could command a room the moment she stepped into it. And now…she was so small, being slowly consumed by this fucking disease.

I sat next to her, clutching her hand gently as if putting any pressure on it would make it break, fighting the tears that were always just behind my eyes these days.

She brushed her thumb over my knuckles—soft but weak, comforting me, when I should’ve been the one holding her together.

“Anak,” she whispered, her voice thin but still fierce, so her, even now. “Promise me something.”

I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Mom…”

“No, we have to talk about it, I don’t know if we’ll get another chance.” Her voice firm but caring, her grip tightened as much as she could manage. “Promise me…that when I’m gone…you’ll find your spark. You won’t let this, this pain, this darkness—swallow you whole.”

“How, how am I supposed to do this without you,” I sobbed against her frail thin arm, any composure or strength I mustered wilting away.

She paused, her eyes sharp despite everything. “Can’t have this fucking cancer taking both of us.”

I looked up at her, tears slipping down my face.

“You’re my special girl,” she murmured, a small, sad smile on her lips. “You were born to shine, Anak. Don’t dwell in the dark for too long. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I whispered, even though I didn’t know if I could keep it—but in that moment, I would’ve promised her anything. Anything to ease her suffering. Anything to give her a moment of peace in all this pain.

She squeezed my hand, eyes fluttering shut as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

There’sa knock on the door and I turn, swallowing the lump in my throat. Snapping me back to the here and now, the weight of her words pressing against my chest.

Find your spark.