Gimlet

☾︎✯☽︎

Closing time rolled by at the club and people were slowly clocking out and leaving for their destinations. After a long night of serving patrons and dealing with a few difficult customers, I couldn't wait to head out and call it a night. Lisa had invited me over for a movie night at her dorm. I was sceptical of her decision especially when it was a weeknight and I didn't want to inconvenience her or disrupt her studies especially when she knows that I finish work at the earliest hours of the morning. However, she insisted it was no hassle for her, as she didn't have classes for the entire semester and was focusing on her research paper and consultations with her supervisor.

I couldn't tell her no. Not when she was giving me puppy eyes and her pouty bottom lip was quivering as she begged me to come spend time with her.

As I made my way to the clock-out station, I noticed music playing in the background. An electric guitar strumming a soft melody and a soft voice singing with such so much emotion.

Who could be playing music during closing time? I wondered as curiosity tickled the edges of my mind.

I followed the sound to its source and found myself standing at the entrance of On The Ground, one of the jazz clubs at the Coup Detat. I peeked through the partially open door and found myself gazing inside.

The club was relatively small compared to others, bathed in amber lighting with spherical crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Chairs were neatly arranged on top of the tables, and the room was empty, except for a small stage in the centre. There, Chaeyoung sat at the edge of the stage, her fingers skilfully strumming a guitar, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder like a curtain, and her eyes closed as she sang with a heart full of emotion.

I watched in awe, amazed at such a talent I never knew she possessed. Her voice filled every empty space of the club with warmth and soul. She would pause midway to jot down lyrics on her notepad before picking up the pace again.

"Why did you stop?" I interrupted her, my voice startling her as she paused her song to write. "It was getting to the good part."

She blinked, her cheeks suddenly turning a soft shade of pink as her body relaxed and she let out a breathy laugh, tugging her hair behind her ear. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Well," I stepped inside and made my way towards the stage. "Considering how deeply you were immersed in your craft, I don't blame you. Although I wouldn't trust you to watch over a shop. Burglars would probably sneak right under your nose and rob the place."

With a whack of her notepad against my shoulder, she scolded me, and I couldn't help but chuckle. I took a seat beside her as she playfully glared and pouted at me.

"Didn't know you could sing," I commented with a smile.

She chuckled once again as she set aside the instrument and placed her hands between her dangling legs. "Well, I am studying music as a BA degree, so it's kinda a given," she said modestly with a shrug.

"How long have you been singing?" I asked.

"Since I was a kid. I used to sing in the church choir. I picked the guitar and started writing songs when I was in middle school."

"Ah, so you've got years of experience under your belt, huh?"

She averted her gaze with a bashful smile tugging at her lips. "You could say that. I'm not a professional writer, but I'm getting there—hopefully."

Very modest and humble, I deduced.

"Is this song for a school assignment?" I asked.

"Oh, no," she shook her head. "I thought I could just sing a little song just to pass time before heading out. Next thing I know, I have my notepad and pen writing down lyrics. It's nothing big."

I arched an eyebrow. "Doesn't your degree allow you to submit your own original work?"

"It does but not for school projects. My degree only allows me to do projects based on music theory, history and performance but not entirely on original work," she explained. "But the faculty is open to us sharing our work for functions and events."

"Have you?" I probed further. "Submitted any of your work, that is?"

Chaeyoung's expression falters a bit, but she quickly covers it up with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "No... I never had the courage to."

"What's stopping you?"

She fell into silence, and I could see her thoughts turning over in her mind as she formulated her response. Her furrowed brows created a line on her forehead, her eyes cast downward, and her lips were pursed together. "I guess..." she began slowly, "I'm scared that whatever I submit won't be good enough. I have this thing where if it's not perfect, it won't see the light of day. I usually stick to covers because it feels safer."

"Why do you feel that way?"

Chaeyoung swallowed, her eyes blinking back tears. I studied her, waiting patiently for her response. Finally, she looked up at me, tears glistening in her dark eyes. "Because I feel like I'll fail as an artist if people don't like my music," she admitted. "The thought terrifies me and makes me doubt my abilities."

The tears Chaeyoung desperately tried to hold started falling down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with the sleeves of her black hoodie but more tears kept falling and falling.

I frowned, feeling a pang of empathy as I watched her vulnerable state. It was clear that Chaeyoung possessed remarkable talent and passion for music. From what she had shared, I could imagine the hard work she had put into her craft. She seemed like someone who sought validation in the opinions of others. Not in the sense of seeking approval by going out of her way, but in wanting her work to be appreciated. It was natural for her to be apprehensive about others' opinions of her creations, as many artists were. But it was disheartening to see her doubt her abilities because of it.

I draped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her into a gentle side hug. Chaeyoung gasped softly, surprised by the sudden contact. As her body relaxed, she leaned into the hug, burying her face in my chest. I began to feel her tears staining my shirt, but I didn't mind. I rubbed her back, and my chin rested on her head as she let out small sniffles. I continued to offer comfort until she pulled away, laughing while wiping away her tears.

"Crying and getting emotional was not on my agenda today," she joked. "I'm very prone to crying easily because of that. Sorry about your shirt, Ollie."

"Don't worry about it. I've had worse done to my shirt," I assured her. "One time back in high school, a girl who had a crush on me approached to confess her feelings for me. She got so nervous she threw up on my shirt."

We both shared a laugh until we were engulfed in a comfortable silence.

"You should give it a try—submitting your music, I mean," I broke the silence. "I know it's scary, but you won't know unless you try."

"I know but..." she let out a frustrated sigh. "It has to be perfect."

"Art is an expression. It doesn't have to be perfect and not everyone has to like it—you do and I think you should make music that makes you happy."

As she looked at me, another tear escaped her left eye. I reached for her face, gently wiping it away with my thumb. Chaeyoung gasped, her cheeks gradually reddening as my hand cupped her face. Her wide eyes and slightly parted lips hinted at her surprise.

I smiled and playfully flicked her chin with my forefinger. "All better?" I asked.

She shot me a brief glare before going on to say, "Thanks for the encouraging words, Ollie," with a smile.

"Anytime. We're co-workers. We stick up for each other," I reassured her.

I noticed her expression falter briefly before she quickly masked it with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked away, and her hair shielded the side of her face. "Yeah."

"Want another hug?" I offered.

She looked at me with arched eyebrows.

"Come on, I give the best hugs. This is once in a lifetime opportunity," I wiggled my eyebrows, opening my arms.

She laughed and shook her head before leaning into my embrace.