Màu nền Màu tối Mặc định Xám nhạt Xanh nhạt Xanh đậm Vàng nhạt Màu sepia Vàng đậm Vàng ố

Font chữ: Palatino Linotype Bookerly Segoe UI Patrick Hand Times New Roman Verdana Tahoma Arial

Chiều cao dòng: 100 120 140 160 180 200

Kích cỡ chữ:

The pressure had always been there, looming in the background like a shadow, but it had never felt as heavy as it did now. Hyunjin had always known that his family expected him to follow a certain path—to pursue a "proper" career, one that would ensure his stability, his future, his place in society. They didn't understand the pull of music, the way it consumed him, the way it felt like the only thing he could do that made sense.

But for years, he had managed to keep the peace. He had attended the prestigious music conservatories, had impressed professors and peers alike with his extraordinary talent, and had quietly built a career in the classical music world, just as his parents had hoped. He had made enough of a name for himself that no one questioned his commitment. He had done everything they wanted—everything but the one thing that truly mattered to him: composing the music that stirred his soul.

Lately, though, things had begun to change.

The once steady stream of support from his family had begun to dry up. They had stopped praising his performances, stopped congratulating him on his accomplishments. Instead, there were long, uncomfortable silences when they spoke about his future. The conversations had become more pointed, more insistent.

"Hyunjin," his father had said one evening, after an uncomfortable dinner with extended relatives, "you need to stop wasting your time with this... passion project of yours. You've already proven you have talent. Now, it's time to think about your future. Your career."

"You know, I spoke to a few contacts," his mother added, her voice far too sweet for comfort. "There's an opening at the Seoul National Symphony Orchestra. They've been looking for someone with your credentials. If you make the right move, it could set you up for life. A position like that will give you the prestige we've worked so hard to secure."

Hyunjin had forced a smile and nodded, though inside, it felt as though everything was crumbling. The more they pushed him, the more he felt like a puppet, and they were the ones pulling the strings.

"I've been composing, Father. I've been working on my own music," he had replied quietly, his voice nearly lost in the clinking of silverware and the hum of conversation around the table.

"You shouldn't be wasting your time with that nonsense," his father had cut in, his tone sharp and final. 

"You've been given an opportunity—an opportunity that most people would die for. You're throwing it away for some... hobby." His eyes, cold and disapproving, had met Hyunjin's then, and the words had hit Hyunjin harder than any criticism in his life.

It wasn't the first time his parents had pressured him like this. It wasn't even the worst time. But it had marked the moment when Hyunjin felt the first crack in his resolve.

The crack had only grown wider since.

The days that followed felt heavier. His world, once filled with the melodies he created and the joy of composing, had turned into a constant tug-of-war between what he wanted to do and what he had to do. The studio, once his sanctuary, had become a cage. The piano felt more like a prison than an instrument of freedom.

Hyunjin began to withdraw from the people around him—his friends, his teachers, and even Felix, though he didn't mean to. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Felix; it was that every time he saw him, the ache inside him grew stronger. Felix, with his carefree spirit, his quiet understanding, seemed to shine in ways Hyunjin couldn't. He could see Felix's art unfold effortlessly, as though every brushstroke was a reflection of his innermost soul. Meanwhile, Hyunjin felt like he was losing his own, piece by piece.

At night, he lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his family's expectations crushing him. Sometimes, he wondered if they were right—if he had made a mistake, pursuing something so uncertain, so intangible. Was he just fooling himself? Was it time to give up on his dreams of composing his own music and step into the life they had planned for him?

But every time he tried to picture a life without music, without the melodies that had once been his escape, his breath would catch in his throat. The thought was suffocating. And yet, every day, it seemed like the world around him grew smaller, more suffocating, like a tunnel closing in on him.

-------------------------------------------------

One evening, as he walked home from a particularly grueling practice session, Hyunjin found himself standing in front of a small, rundown music shop on a quiet street corner. He had passed by this shop countless times before, but tonight, something made him stop. It wasn't the rows of dusty instruments or the yellowed sheet music that caught his attention, but the window display—a poster for a local music competition, a contest for emerging composers. The kind of competition his parents would dismiss as "childish" and "unnecessary."

The thought lingered with him as he stood there, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to participate in something like that—something that was entirely his own, no strings attached. But the fantasy was fleeting, quickly squashed by the harsh reality of his situation. He couldn't risk it. Not now.

With a heavy heart, Hyunjin turned away from the shop, continuing his walk home. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his shoulders, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was suffocating—drowning in expectations that weren't his own, in a life that wasn't his to live.

When he finally reached his apartment, he slumped onto the couch, exhausted in every way possible. The silence in the room was deafening. The piano in the corner felt like a stranger to him now, its keys silent, mocking him.

He should practice. He should be working on the pieces he had promised to his family—on the music they wanted from him. But instead, he just sat there, staring at the empty room, unsure of what to do next.

That night, sleep came slowly, if at all. His mind was a swirling mess of doubts and regrets. He hadn't been able to compose anything new in weeks, and every time he tried, it felt like the music slipped further and further away from him. It was as though the very thing that had once been his lifeline was now the thing that drained him of all his energy, his joy.

The next morning, he awoke with a dull ache in his chest. It wasn't physical pain—it was deeper, a gnawing emptiness that made him wonder if he would ever find his way back to the music that had once defined him.

And then there was Felix.

Felix, with his bright eyes and infectious smile, had become both a beacon of hope and a source of pain for Hyunjin. The connection between them was undeniable, and yet Hyunjin had pulled away. He wasn't sure how to face Felix anymore. He wasn't sure he could even face himself.

He needed to talk to someone, to let the weight of everything off his chest. But he couldn't bring himself to open up—not to his family, not to his friends, and certainly not to Felix. The more he tried to hold it all together, the more he felt like he was falling apart.

The days blurred into each other, and Hyunjin continued to drown in his own thoughts, struggling to keep his head above water. But no matter how hard he tried to fight it, the shadows kept closing in on him, and the suffocating feeling grew stronger with every passing day.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Guys, dont you know that this is my 2TH fanfiction? and even the first English fanfiction in my life. so i dont have much experience but still put lots efforts into this work.