The sound of a closed door after the last applause

Dear Delyara, I am a concert pianist, and tonight I performed a complex piece before a sold-out crowd of twelve hundred people. When the final note faded, the auditorium erupted. They stood up, cheered, and threw roses at my feet. It was the exact moment I had sacrificed my entire childhood, my friendships, and my youth to achieve. But twenty minutes later, I was sitting alone in the backseat of a cold taxi, holding a plastic container of lukewarm takeaway noodles. Now, in my hotel room, the silence is so heavy it feels physical. The twelve hundred people who loved me for two hours don't know that I don't have a single person to call to ask if I played well. I am terrified that this cold, hollow room is all that waits for me at the end of every achievement.