SOAP OPERA
Chapter Fourteen — "When Applause Hurts"
The Literature Theatre had never felt this heavy.
Lights hung above like watchful eyes, casting a warm glow that did nothing to soften the cold tension gripping the room. Every seat was filled. No whispers. No jokes. No phones raised for gossip. Just silence—thick, painful silence.
This was no longer a competition.
This was a reckoning.
Ella sat in the front row, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned pale. Her face was calm, almost unreadable, but inside her chest, her heart was breaking itself apart. She had survived storms. Sabotage. Doubt. Fear. She had written through sleepless nights, through tears she refused to shed in front of anyone.
And now… she was tired.
Johnson sat two seats away, staring at the stage but not really seeing it. His mind replayed every sentence he had ever written, every moment he had almost quit, every time he had been overlooked. He had come back from elimination. He had risen when nobody expected him to. But somehow, this round felt different.
It felt final.
Raphael stood behind the curtain, pacing slowly, breath uneven. For the first time since the contest began, confidence did not sit easily on his shoulders. He had always been the favorite. Always the one people expected to win. But expectations were a cruel thing—they didn't cheer for you when you fell.
They just waited.
Gift sat quietly with her notebook closed on her lap. No rereading. No last-minute panic. Just stillness. The kind that came from knowing you had poured everything you had into your work. Win or lose, she had nothing left to give.
Professor Nwagu stepped onto the stage.
The applause that followed was hesitant—fragile. It cracked under the weight of what everyone knew was coming.
"Good evening," he said, his voice steady, almost too calm for the moment. "Today… we announce the results of Round Four."
A breath moved through the hall like a slow wave.
"This round," he continued, "was the most emotionally demanding so far. The judges struggled. Not because the works were weak—but because they were honest."
He paused.
"And honesty… is painful."
Ella's throat tightened.
"We will begin," Professor Nwagu said, "with the third position."
Every sound disappeared.
"Third place… Gift."
A sharp inhale rippled across the room.
Gift closed her eyes for a brief second. Not in relief. Not in disappointment. In acceptance. She stood, walked to the stage, and bowed slightly. The applause grew louder, warmer. She smiled—but her eyes glistened. Third place meant survival… but it also meant being close enough to taste the crown and still not touch it.
She returned to her seat quietly.
Professor Nwagu lifted the card again.
"Second place… Johnson Adeyemi."
The room exploded.
Gasps. Whispers. Shock.
Johnson didn't move.
Raphael turned sharply, staring at him.
Ella's head snapped up.
Johnson stood slowly, legs unsteady. Second place. Again he was seen. Again he was validated. Yet the victory felt heavy. Because he knew what this meant.
He walked to the stage, collected the nod from the professor, and returned without smiling.
Only one name remained.
Professor Nwagu's voice softened.
"And the winner of Round Four…"
The pause felt endless.
"…Raphael."
For a split second, nobody clapped.
Then the hall erupted.
Loud. Deafening. Relentless.
Raphael stepped onto the stage—but the applause sounded wrong. Too loud. Too forced. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Because he knew who had not been called.
Ella.
Professor Nwagu raised his hand.
"Which means," he said quietly, "Ella… is eliminated."
The words landed like a slap.
Ella didn't cry.
Not immediately.
She sat still, eyes fixed on the stage, as if she hadn't heard correctly. Around her, murmurs grew louder. People shook their heads. Some wiped tears. Others whispered her name like it was a prayer.
Johnson turned toward her. "Ella…"
She stood before he could finish.
The walk to the stage was slow. Every step echoed. Memories flooded her—late nights, crossed-out pages, laughter, pain, believing this was finally her time.
Professor Nwagu looked at her with genuine regret.
"You wrote beautifully," he said. "Sometimes… beautifully is not enough."
Ella nodded.
When she faced the audience, her voice trembled—but she spoke anyway.
"I thought winning would prove something," she said. "But losing taught me more."
Her eyes met Johnson's. Then Raphael's.
"I hope whoever wins remembers… stories are bigger than trophies."
She stepped down.
As she walked past the front row, tears finally fell—silent, unstoppable.
Raphael watched her leave, guilt clawing at his chest.
Johnson clenched his fists.
And Gift lowered her head.
The applause faded.
But the pain didn't.
Because now everyone understood—
Winning didn't just lift one person.
It broke another.
And the end was closer than anyone was ready for.