The coda blasted through the air, layers of fluid harmony twisting and turning through the crisp New York atmosphere until they were wisps of smoke and sound waves trembling under the radiant lights of the theater. As the slightly-short conductor performed the last note with a flourish, a wave of deafening applause shook the stage as the audience extolled their plaudits onto this incredible prodigy – the former nobody, the future Mozart, and the current August Rush.

Below the acclamations of August! that thundered incessantly throughout the park, the audience was oblivious to an astonishing miracle unraveling near the front left section of the crowd.

Slowly, barely daring to breathe, Louis Connelly looked incredulously at the woman who had just pushed her way in front of him. His ice blue eyes – filled with cold and grief for the past eleven years – were suddenly full with warmth as he used one hand to grasp hers, using the other to reach up and touch her still-beautiful face.

She whirled around, eyes twinkling as if in a dream, and for a small moment they looked earnestly into each other's eyes with expressions of disbelief and happiness. Feeling slightly faint (probably from lack of air), Louis breathed her name.


Lyla Novacek was shivering with excitement, mixed with the nippy spring air of the park. She pushed and shoved her way through the throng of people, listening to the last notes of the coda wafting its way through the air as the audience exploded in applause around her. Finally, she squeezed her way around a tall man in a leather jacket, just as the undersized conductor turned around to give a bow.

He didn't bow, however. Lyla saw his eyes- brilliant blue and searching for something. Her breath caught in her throat, and she froze.

This is my son.

The four words had barely formed concretely in Lyla's mind when she felt a warm, calloused hand envelope her small, shaking one. She spun around, eyes full of tears threatening to fall again, and came face-to-face to the man she once – and still – loved, she realized.

As he reached up and caressed her face, all Lyla could do was stare, mouth agape, into the beautiful eyes that looked so foreign and yet familiar all at once, the eyes that had the same smiling, searching sensation of the conductor. Of her son.

At the same time he breathed her name, she said his.


Onstage, the newly famed August Rush was oblivious to the roar of applause basking around him. He had heard something under the music, and, smiling widely, he turned around, searching for it.

The concertmaster was examining him quizzically, motioning for him to bow, but August continued to comb through the audience, searching for something the music whispered to him to find. Something – and yet he didn't know what.

August Rush stepped off the podium, bowed hastily, and ran offstage.

Just a few hundred feet away from August Rush, Lyla's face broke into a smile at the sound of Louis's voice – breathless but melodic, and rhythmic like a symphony of cool, summer winds. The left side of his mouth lifted into a crooked, warm half-smile as she reached up and touched his lips, exploring the striking features of his face.

Suddenly, in the corner of her eye, the conductor raced off stage, tripping over a stray microphone wire as a bewildered violinist struggled to help him. Lyla gasped, and Louis spun around in time to see a small boy with piercing blue eyes fumble through a tangle of wires before running backstage, the tails of his suit whipping around the corner.

Louis turned to face Lyla, who in a split second yanked up the train of her white concert dress, jumped over the rusty gate barrier, and began running towards the door backstage. For the second time that night, Louis ran after her.

Back onstage, the very confused concertmaster stood up, the orchestra following suit. With a gesture from the bemused dean, she nervously motioned for the orchestra to take a bow. It seemed to have worked on the audience, who clapped even louder, expecting August to march onstage again any minute.

Just as August pummeled his way backstage, he ran straight into Mr. Jeffries, whose worn appearance seemed to glow with happiness as he placed his hands on August's shoulders, stopping him in mid-run.

"Evan! Evan!" he said hurriedly, as August tried to squirm out of his arms. "I found them! Your mother came in yesterday, and –"

August stopped struggling immediately, his eyes wide. "Where are they, Mr. Jeffries?" he breathed.

"Well, first I'd have to go back to the HQ, give her a call, get you someplace safe… hey, where are you going, Evan? Evan!"

August was beaming as he ran. "They're here, Mr. Jeffries! Both of them!"

He continued to run, and Mr. Jeffries sprinted behind him, shouting his name and asking a million questions at once.

"I could tell, the music told me so," August continued. "They were listening."

Louis cursed under his breath. "Lyla!" he shouted after her, leaping over the barrier. "Lyla!"

She was smiling as he caught up, and grasping one of his hands, they ran together behind the stage, out of sight.

August was worried. He searched everywhere backstage, hoping that they were somewhere waiting with open arms. He ran back onstage, and the still-applauding audience roared even louder. August was oblivious – he didn't wave, bow, or even smile. He just searched.

"Louis," panted Lyla, as they ran. "Louis, we have to find him."

She sounded desperate and on the verge of tears, and for some reason, Louis did too. He didn't understand why. He just felt the exigency of the moment, of finding him.

He stopped her.

"Lyla, who is he?"

She looked stunned for a second, her eyes wide and confused, but then her face broke into a smile and she squeezed his hand. Her laughter was like music. Louis looked deeply into her eyes, as if to say, I'm listening to anything you have to say.

She took a deep breath and beamed.

"I have a son," she said, smiling and crying at the same time. "Louis, I have a son."

A million emotions filled Louis. He forgot how to breathe. Tears streamed down Lyla's face, and she kept laughing her lovely laugh.

"Louis, we have a son."

His heart stopped. He almost died of ecstasy.

August couldn't see them anywhere in the crowd. Numbly, he stared into the stars as the announcer exalted his name. He barely heard it.

Why hadn't they come?

Ladies and gentlemen, the prodigy, the genius, the sensation… the August Rush.

Lyla gasped when she heard it. His name was like music.

"Louis, Louis that's him!"

She jumped up and down, her face tear-streaked and glowing. Laughing, as if he couldn't believe it, Louis wrapped her in his arms, erasing the tears with his thumb. Lyla kissed the palm of his hand.

"Lyla," he breathed. "Oh, Lyla."

Slowly, August Rush collapsed to his knees. He looked out into the deafening crowd until all he saw was the blinding white stage lights and all he heard was the roar of the applause. He was shivering, numb, and he couldn't see or hear or feel.

Standing behind the curtain, Mr. Jeffries had finally caught up. He wanted to run onstage and help the small prodigy, but he didn't know how. Over all his fame and brilliance, August Rush was, after all, just a boy.

A single tear rolled down the boy's cheek.

Onstage, hand in hand, Louis and Lyla walked slowly towards the boy in the middle of the stage. A force like electricity seemed to pull them towards each other, musician to musician, parents to son. They fell on their knees next to him, too stunned to speak.

August slowly turned around and saw two angels, one dark and one light. Like yin and yang, they seemed to fit perfectly with one another. He couldn't stop staring at their beauty, as if the instant he looked somewhere else they would fly away from him to heaven, where they belonged.

The dark one, who wore a face of equal astonishment, smiled and caressed August's cheek, stroking away the tears. August stared into his refulgent blue eyes, so not unlike his own. He touched the strong hand on his wet cheek, felt the dark leather jacket the angel wore, and reached up to touch the angel's smooth, gentle face. Once he felt as though he memorized every feature, August turned to the other angel next to him.

She took his breath away. She was the epitome of beauty, and as she smiled at him he felt at home, in heaven. Her honey brown hair, exactly the same color of August's, framed her face like a halo, and her golden skin glowed like the sun. She reached out her hands and August took them, feeling the power in her fingertips from the music.

Slowly, Lyla pulled him into her arms. She stroked his hair as tears broke freshly across her face again, and she never wanted to let go of this part of her. August closed his eyes and held tightly on to her, as if he was in a dream and never wanted to wake up. Beside him, Louis rubbed his back, still brushing away the tears that leaked through August's eyes. He was crying himself, too overjoyed for words.

Finally, they all thought.

The audience didn't understand the miracle. All they saw was the cello soloist walking onstage again, still wearing her white dress and with a man, possibly her husband. They embraced the young prodigy, who had collapsed to his knees, probably overwhelmed by the applause he received. For a while, they huddled together in the middle of the stage as the applause subdued slightly.

Then together they stood up, the boy holding hands in the middle with the woman and her husband, and they took one last bow in concert.

This is my most favorite movie of all time. The ending was perfect, but I was left wondering, what happens next? like in all movies. Hope you enjoyed it!