While She Shined

The mirror wasn’t for me. It never was.

I stood behind her, pinning the last curl into place, making sure not a single strand escaped. She had to be flawless tonight; the spotlight didn’t forgive imperfection. My hands moved with practiced care , tugging, smoothing, adjusting- until her reflection looked satisfied enough to nod back at her.

“Perfect,” she whispered, and the word landed like a feather and a stone all at once.

Perfect. For her. Because of me. But not me.

I stepped back, letting her admire herself, while I became part of the wallpaper. I always did ,a shadow, a presence that made sure the star could shine. My name wouldn’t be in the program, no one would clap for me, but if her dress slipped or her hair faltered, all eyes would still find the fault in my work. That was the unspoken contract of living behind the curtain.

The dressing room smelled of roses , the bouquet someone had sent earlier, its card tucked safely in her bag. From him, no doubt. The thought made me smile, faint and tight. She didn’t even look at the card when she tucked it away; her eyes had been elsewhere, already rehearsing the lines, the smiles, the bows.

“Will you stay close?” she asked, smoothing the satin of her gown as if she hadn’t already asked me a hundred times.

“Of course,” I said. Because what else could I say?

She didn’t hear the weariness in my tone, or maybe she did and chose to ignore it. Either way, the answer was the same. I was always close. I was always there.

The room buzzed faintly with voices outside - the orchestra tuning, the crew adjusting ropes and pulleys, the impatient audience finding their seats. Any moment now, the knock would come at the door, and she would step out, radiant, adored, a name they’d remember long after tonight. And me? I’d stand just offstage, watching the light wrap itself around her while I remained in the dark.

I bent to fix the hem of her gown, brushing off a speck of lint no one else would have noticed. She placed a hand on my shoulder absentmindedly, a gesture more for balance than gratitude, but it burned through me anyway. For a second, I let myself imagine it meant something else.

“Don’t let me trip,” she said with a laugh, nervous but sparkling.

“You won’t,” I murmured. Because I won’t let you.

The knock came, sharp and urgent. “Five minutes!”

She inhaled, deep and steady, and in that breath I saw her transform , no longer the girl who fumbled with pins and doubted her voice, but the star the world had come to see. She turned to me one last time, her smile dazzling, and said the words I’d both longed for and dreaded:

“Wish me luck.”

I did. Quietly, as always. And when she swept out the door, every trace of me went with her, folded into the seams of her gown, woven into the curls of her hair, hidden in the shadows where no applause would ever reach.

The stage lights rose, and with them, the world tilted.

She stepped into their glow as if she had been born for it, as if the air itself bent to cradle her every gesture. The velvet curtain curled upward, revealing her silhouette , black against a backdrop of gold, still as stone, powerful as a held breath. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Even the orchestra seemed to hesitate, strings quivering in silence, waiting for her cue.

Then she opened her mouth, and sound poured out like water breaking through a dam.

It wasn’t just a song. It was something deeper, something that reached through skin and bone to seize the heart directly. The first note rose and fell like a question, delicate and searching, and when it landed, the audience sighed as one, already under her spell.

The lights kissed her cheekbones, traced the curve of her gown, painted her figure in shades of fire and shadow. She lifted her hand slightly- a movement so precise, so measured, that even before the violins obeyed, everyone knew they must. The music swelled, and the stage seemed to lift with it, carrying us all into some place where time dared not follow.

From my place in the wings, I could have been gone entirely, a phantom erased. No one looked at me, no one cared. They were hers now ,every beating heart, every shining eye, every hand pressed to a chest as if to keep it from bursting.

When she reached the refrain, the hall itself seemed to shiver. The chandeliers rattled faintly, the wood of the stage hummed with resonance. Her voice climbed higher and higher until it balanced on the edge of breaking, yet never broke. Instead, she held it there, suspended, a fragile miracle floating in the rafters.

And then .....silence.

The orchestra froze mid-bow, the pianist’s hands hovered above the keys, and her body became a black silhouette against a sudden wash of white light. A perfect stillness filled the air, as though we all knew if we so much as breathed, it would shatter.

Someone in the crowd gasped. Another whispered, “My God.”

The silence cracked open, and applause thundered through the hall. It rolled forward like a storm, people on their feet, hands clashing, voices crying out in awe. Bravo! Encore! Magnificent! The sound pressed against the walls, against my chest, until I almost believed I’d been watching a goddess rather than a girl I had helped fasten into her gown.

For that moment, she was untouchable.

But from where I stood, hidden by the curtain, every detail looked fragile. The spotlights hummed, heavy ropes groaned above the stage, and the orchestra strained to keep pace with her soaring voice. One wrong note, one faulty cable, one slip... it was enough to make me clench my fists until my nails bit skin.

Until it ruined everything..........

A sharp crack split the air above, quick and vicious, like a gunshot muffled in velvet. My heart lurched. I glanced up, the rigging swayed, one of the heavy counterweights trembling against its chain. For a split second, I saw the entire disaster: the weight snapping free, crashing down, shattering the stage, cutting her song short in a scream of panic.

No one else seemed to notice. The audience was blind with rapture, their eyes fixed on her, their hands poised for applause. Even she was oblivious, lost in her music, her arm outstretched as though she commanded the very air to rise and fall with her.

I moved without thinking, slipping past the crew, eyes locked on the rope above. Another sharp jolt rattled it, and I grabbed the nearest pulley, yanking hard to stabilize the swing. My muscles screamed, but slowly, achingly slowly, the weight steadied, its dangerous sway calming into a faint, harmless tremor.

No one saw. Not the audience, not the conductor, not even her.

She carried the note into a long, aching finish, and when the final chord rang through the hall, the world erupted. Applause like thunder, cheers that rattled the rafters. The rigging was forgotten. My silent grip on the rope was forgotten.

She bowed deeply, her smile radiant, as bouquets sailed onto the stage. “Bravo!” someone cried. A dozen voices joined, chanting her name, lifting it until it seemed carved into the air itself. She turned her face toward the crowd, her cheeks flushed with victory, her eyes glistening with tears.

And I let go of the rope. Slowly, carefully, so no sound betrayed me.

When she left the stage and came running into the wings, breathless with triumph, she found me waiting there as always.

“Did you hear them?” she gasped, grabbing my hands. “Did you see?”

I smiled,

because what else could I do?

“Yes,” I said softly. “You were perfect.”

She laughed, radiant, still high on the applause, already turning back toward the flowers and the lights. And just like that, I slipped back into the shadows, where I belonged.