Good morning to all passengers. We are now arriving at Centre 45. The next stop will be at Bougainvillea City. Passengers are required to collect all personal belongings before leaving the seat. Thank you.

Harold lifted his gaze from his phone. His grey eyes danced across the scenery that passed by him as he sighed at the annoying robotic sound that scraped through his favorite music. As the train came to a halt, he felt even more insecure with humans pushing past him to get down to their selected destination. Defeated by the continuous noise, Harold paused the music and removed his earphones. He rolled them neatly before placing them into the side pockets of his back.

Everyone was heading somewhere, having their own personal goals and dreams to chase off. When the train moved, Harold tightened his grip onto the rail before looking out of the window. As they passed through a tunnel, Harold looked into his own reflection, studying the blood-red shirt he had been wearing that matched with his favorite pair of black dance pants. He grinned at the sight of it. It wasn't his initial plan. He wanted to show up in a simple pair of white shirt and yoga pants, but his mother threw him a half an hour nag about it. Defeated by her, he gave in to her suggestion.

You can do this – he muttered to himself barely audible.

Once he reached his destination, Harold headed out, reading the directions on his phone and made a sharp turn to the left. The warm morning air was a comforting company to the silent streets. He looked around, making sure that he did not miss the venue. Coming to a halt, Harold stood next to the yellow painted building with a large 'Bed and Breakfast' sign written on it.

"You have reached your destination," said his phone proudly as he frowned, taking a few steps backward.

"It sure is," Harold snickered. "It's a hotel. I would have hit you if you are a person."

With that, Harold kept his phone in his bag before turning to look at the left and noticed another signboard above it. That should be it. Upon noticing the stairs at the corner of the building, Harold made his way up. The colors of the buildings here were strangely vintage. The open-air restaurant opposite was painted in the color of pink cotton candy while the law firm had spring color doors with magenta walls.

Making his way up the stairs, Harold could hear music being played in the air and the thumping sound of footsteps that were joined by the sound of a certain string instrument he wasn't clear of. He headed over the reception table and studied the ladies who were lining up papers together with number tags. The light blue clock next to them ticked violently as if it had been forced to provide information about the day. When he took out the papers from the bag, Harold watched the lady's plush lips curved into a smile.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, brushing his gelled hair backward and handed her the confirmation letter he had gotten from the website last night. "Am I late for the audition? I heard the music playing already."

He studied the room carefully, earning a chuckle from the lady who examined the papers. She shook her head and placed the papers with the tag numbered 210 in front of Harold.

"No, Mr. Ye," she answered politely. "You are just right on time. Please head over to Room 309 on the third floor. You can wait at the space provided outside and good luck!"

Her cheerful smile and bubbly voice lifted his fears as he waved the papers at her, thanking the lady and hopped upstairs. Upon reaching the room, there were many participants in the waiting room. There were altogether thirty of them, all wearing different sorts of outfits. Some came alone while some were accompanied by their family members. Everyone was in their best dress. He spotted a girl who had a Latin costume that made her pale skin stood out from the dark blue outfit and the make-up brightened her look. Adjusting the collar of his outfit, Harold felt glad that he took up his mother's advice.

As the clock struck nine, Harold watched three participants entered each room at once. Studying the place, he realized that there were four rooms surrounding the waiting halls. His palms were sweaty as he tugged them into the pocket of his pants, wiping them against the handkerchief in it. He could feel himself drowning just by looking at the crowd. The minute he spotted an empty seat by the window, Harold threw himself on the couch and glanced at the skyscrapers that were filling his eyes.

What if he did not make it? Then, what? Is he going to return to his old life? Typing under the cold air-condition and hang out at the office lounge when he had nothing to do?

No. No. No. – Harold scolded his own thoughts. You are going to make it through. Look, if you don't want to go back staring at the horrifying numbers, you better buck up!

"Mr. Ye!"

The loud voice echoed through the halls as Harold jumped from his seat, coming eye to eye with a boy who stood by the door, looking annoyed. He let out a soft smile, picking up his bag and immediately rushed to the room he was called into. Lowering his head, he apologized to the boy who closed the door, leaving him with three interviewers. Judging from the badge on their blazers, Harold knew that they were from different dance academies, trying to recruit the best into their own academy.

"Why did you stop?"

The man with dark brown skin questioned abruptly, throwing Harold into a shocked as he placed his bag down on the chair behind him. He placed his hands behind him, brushing each of his fingers nervously. At that moment, he felt like a young kid all over again. No one was supposed to realize his disappearance from the dance world or in fact, no one was supposed to know who he was.

"Let me repeat myself," the man said again. "Why did you quit dancing? You were doing well back then."

"Because I can't find a perfect tutor for myself," said Harold as he swallowed the thick lump that was beginning to form in his throat. "And I need to settle some things back then."

"You tutored Tiberius," said the lady who was sitting next to him. "There are many dance academy out there. You could have joined one, instead of letting your talent go to waste. How can you assure us that you are not going to run away again?"

Harold frowned at the word. Did they really think he was such an irresponsible child for just disappearing?

He didn't deserve such mockery at ten in the morning.

"Look," said Harold, trying to prevent himself from bursting into flames. "I believe everyone has their own reasons. I did not run away from my responsibilities back then. I was aware that I had the final round, but like I said. I could not find a perfect tutor. Sorry to burst your bubbles, but the only tutor I trust was my father. It will always be him. I couldn't find myself trusting the dance academies out there back then, not because I was a kid, but also because they believed more in complexion rather than hard work. So, I stopped. I decided there was something else I need to concentrate on to survive with. I don't run away from responsibilities if that is what you are accusing me of. I just know which one to concentrate on. There is a term called opportunity cost."

The interviewers listened to his answers and Harold could not read their faces. He did not want them to think of him as a lazy and ignorant dancer. He loved dancing. It will always be his first choice if he had a chance to, but they all rejected him. He still remembered the times he had locked himself away each time he received a rejection letter. They tore his mental down violently. Harold did not want that to happen again. He knew he would make a change this time. Staring into the eyes of the interviewers, he decided to wait for another question instead of letting anger to control him.

"You don't have to get all worked up, Kristal," said the third interviewer who had remained silent since the start. "We are just curious about your background ever since your father's passing. Yes, we knew him. When his academy was sold, we didn't know where to search for you since Isaac was a nobleman who refused to bring his family matters to work. Your skills had always fascinated us. I realized that you tutored Tiberius for every competition he took part in and he..."

"Wait," said Harold as he looked at the man with light blonde hair. "There was no tutor's name in his form and I never told you my stage name. How sure are you that I am the Kristal I was back then?"

The lady straightened her back, a smile formed on her lips.

"You said your complexion was the reason the academies turned you down," she said softly and wrapped her palms together before glancing at the scar on Harold's face. "We recognized you through it. The dance room you practiced before this audition belonged to my sister's. I have been there a couple of times to visit her during the closing hours, you were there. Your scar, that's your pride. It is not your weakness Kristal. It's your pride."

"And your name," said the man with a soft smile. "Kristal. It's a name we would never forget because not every dancer chooses their stage name that reflects their real name. It's a unique choice, Harold. You set an impression we cannot forget that easily. We are all glad that you are here today for this audition."

Harold could only smile. He bowed thanking them for being so kind as he looked out at the drizzle that was forming under the bright skies.  

28th October 2001

"Daddy!!!"

The sharp piercing scream echoed through the halls excitedly as the young child ran out of his father's office. He immediately jumped into his father's embrace when the clock struck four, wrapping his small chubby arms around his father's neck excitedly.

"I finished my homework!" the little boy said excitedly, looking into his father's eyes and leaned his forehead on his father's. "Are you going to teach me a new dance move today? Or are you going to bring me to one of your next classes? What did you plan for me?"

Isaac cuddled his son close to his chest, wiping the light green watercolor away from his cheeks gently, straightening the child's messy hair. The students in the hall chuckled at the sight as the leader conducted the last stretch. Isaac then gestured for his students to dismiss since it was their last practice for the day. He held onto Harold closely in his right arm before moving over to his secretary and looked through the documents. He watched his son's round grey eyes looked at the dancers curiously, studying some of those who were discussing their movements. Quickly, Isaac verified the documents, sending them away and turned his full attention towards his one and only child.

"Hm, dancing doesn't sound like a good option," said Isaac as he smiled. "What if we do something else today? Remember how I tell you that every performer has a stage name?"

Harold nodded excitedly.

"That's what we are going to do today. We are going to get you one today and I want you to really think carefully about this. It represents you," Isaac explained, settling his son down as he brushed those chubby cheeks gently.

The child's grey eyes glistened with happiness as he ran off towards the edge of the studio, screaming happily and hopping like a frog. Isaac laughed heartily watching his son's short, fat legs carried him around. When he noticed Harold made a second round of running, Isaac suspected that his son might have consumed the box of chocolate he hid in his shelf. That boy always has the capability to search for anything in his office.

"Daddy's finally letting me perform on stage!" shouted the boy as he ran towards his father, reaching out to hold his large palms. "Right? I am going to perform at the next event? What about Harl? Harl sounds nice. You call me that all the time. It's easy to remember."

Isaac planted himself on the ground, gesturing his son to sit next to him.

"That's a good name, but what about other options? Maybe something unique. Something that people would not forget easily and related to you. A name that will reflect your personality instead of your looks. Some might think names don't matter, but the name defines a person too. It represents you."

Isaac explained as he let Harold laid on his lap. Taking out the handkerchief in Harold's pocket, he wiped the large beads of sweat that were trickling down from his son's forehead, wetting his adorable cheeks.

"What about my Chinese name? I remembered you saying that I will need it one day. Is now the time?" Harold asked curiously, rolling in his father's lap and laid down on his stomach, picking the threads jutting out from the dark red pants.

"It is important. We need it to continue our heritage. I am sure I did pick a correct one for you," said Isaac proudly as he watched his son climbed out of his lap and sat on the ground.

"What does Shan Liang means?" Harold questioned. "Maybe we can make changes on that?"

The elder let a soft hummed, studying Harold's curious eyes as he waited for an answer.

"It means being able to shine brightly, mostly just shining. Improvising is a good idea. What about Crystal?" Isaac questioned as he spelled it out for Harold who shook his head.

"Too simple, daddy," he mumbled, letting a pout to form on his lips.

"Kristal," said Isaac. "K-R-I-S-T-A-L. It's a translation from crystal in the Malay language. What do you think?"

Harold looked up at his father, thinking for a while as he felt his father's palms brushing away the fringes that were dangling on his forehead.

"Kristal it is then," he beamed and giggled, proudly showing off his chocolate stained teeth. "Kristal, then. Anything from daddy is a precious gift! Thank you, daddy! I love you!"

Word Count: 2493 words

Cumulative Word Count: 13, 919 words