Riri

H e's here.

Excitement breathes life into the butterflies in my stomach when I see him stroll inside the auditorium.

Every step he takes is art in motion. He exudes lithe grace and strength, and there's undeniable elegance even in how he wears his power and authority like it's his second skin.

The dozen or so individuals in the auditorium have all risen to their feet to welcome him. They pay their respects like he's a king, and in a way, that's who Jacques Carpentier is to all of us.

His great-grandfather founded Carpentier University in the early 1800s, and when he fell in love later on with a beautiful songstress, he built her the Carpentier Opera House as his wedding gift.

CoH is the only campus-based establishment of its kind, and it's said to rival the Louvre itself for its mesmerizing architecture and old-school charm.

It has a massive glass-domed ceiling and textured French wallpapers, an intricately ornate carpet on which members of royalty and global icons have trodden, and hand-stitched velvet covers for all 500-plus seats.

The first time I came to this place, its beauty didn't just take my breath away. Every inch of CoH also pulsed with romance, and no matter where you looked, it was impossible not to feel the love between Francois Carpentier and his beloved wife.

I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to fall for such a man.

And as God would have it, that was exactly what happened.

The day I met him, I knew right away.

It would be our love story CoH would witness next.

Silence sweeps over the auditorium as soon as my name is called. Today is the final stage of our auditions. It's make-or-break time, but I have not a single doubt in my heart that I am destined to play the titular role of Carmen.

There are some things in life that we're born knowing.

And this is one of them.

The ambient lights overhead shut down as soon as I take my spot behind the mic stand. A singular spotlight shines down on my head while stage lights turn the rest of the auditorium into a bright white blur.

No matter.

I know where my Jacques is seated, and so I know where to look.

Look at me, my Jacques.

It's no coincidence that we've met.

It's just one of those things I'm absolutely sure of.

And it's this thought that makes my heart feel like it's about to explode as my lips slowly part.

My darling Jacques, listen.

I don't take my gaze away from him as I start to sing.

For him.

Every word, every gesture, every gentle sway of my hips.

It's all for my Jacques.

And though I know he's been struggling to deny it---

You're fighting a losing battle, darling.

I know he knows.

I am his, and he is mine.