Ninety minutes feels like forever when it’s a run-through during tech week. Tonight, time flies. My heart is so full watching Melted unfold from the orchestra pit, I don’t even have time to process my conducting nerves or allow them to fester. I’m swept away by Danica and Emerson’s performance, by the way the set comes to life with proper lighting, by the small miracle that is zero audio problems. I’m so stupid proud, I nearly miss the cue to start the music for “Hate Is a Closed Window.”

Everyone performs full out, with their whole heart. Every note, every line, every lighting cue—it’s all perfectly imperfect. Fitz sashays in the wrong direction but plays it off like she meant to. Kevin botches his first line but recovers seamlessly. Arjun misses a lighting cue, leaving Emerson in the dark a minute too long. But the music is captivating. The “In Winter” tap routine is iconic. And Moritz’s death scene is mesmerizing.

The audience roars to life when the music cuts and the lights fade to black.

Then it’s time for the other clubs to have their moment to shine.

The Trebles perform a Frozen medley onstage during intermission.

In the hallways, an art auction is live.

The Melted: A Meditation on Climate Change Anxiety lit magazine is for sale.

Every piece has at least one bid in the auction and the magazine sells out before the curtain goes back up.

I can’t even process how much money that is. For our clubs. For The Sunshine Project.

So I don’t. I get back to my spot and conduct.

And before I know it, it’s time for the curtain call. All night my back has been toward the audience, focused on the music. But now, as I walk onstage for my bow, the spotlight softens and I see it. The whole place is on their feet cheering. Two silhouettes even stand off to the side, their backs pressed against the white brick wall. Sold out, plus standing room? It’s basically every director’s dream come true. I think about how we used to barely fill half the theater—and how after tonight, I doubt we’ll ever have that problem again. If we get the chance to do this again.

My eyes adjust to the blinding light and the crowd regains their features, including the two standing figures. I bite down on my lower lip, hard, to keep from audibly gasping.

Because the standing room silhouettes are Reid and my dad, who both have the widest smiles on their faces. I… Reid and Dad are supposed to still be in Albany.

Yet, they’re here.

Reid and Dad are here.