Many knew her face. The bright appearance with a sweet smile appeared on fans' screens every evening. Illuminated by the soft glow of a ring light, with impeccable makeup and an unwavering smile, she won the hearts of many. It seemed that in her world there was no place for sadness or anxiety—only endless fun and joy.

        The room where she broadcast her shows always looked immaculate: a stylish interior in soft pastel colors, a cozy sofa with vibrant pillows, and soft garlands on the walls created an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. This small world seemed like a true refuge, a place where only happiness existed.

        Her voice was like music—mesmerizing, alluring, as if every word was imbued with sunlight. She effortlessly lifted the spirits of her viewers, played games with them, answered questions, and shared her thoughts and stories. Fans admired her optimism and lightness; in the comments one could see: “You are a ray of light in this world!” “Your energy is contagious!” “How do you always manage to stay so positive?”

        But in every movement, in every glance, in every moment, there was a hidden secret. Something elusive, implicit, yet palpable, like a shadow behind her smile. The audience saw only the side she showed them, unaware that behind this cheerfulness and radiance was something much deeper and more unsettling.

                                                                    ***

        It was one of those rare days when nature seemed content with itself. The sky was a bright blue, as if someone had deliberately erased all the clouds, leaving only an endless expanse where the sun played. Its rays gently touched the ground, not burning, but caressing, like a warm blanket in the morning. The air was filled with the light aroma of blooming trees and freshly cut grass, mixed with a subtle scent of earth warmed by long hours of daylight.

        The green crowns of the trees whispered, the leaves gently swayed in the wind, creating a soft rustle. This breeze was cool but not cold—it brought with it a feeling of lightness, a reminder that summer was in full swing. Everything around was permeated with light; every blade of grass, every tiny speck of dust sparkled in the air like magical pollen.

        Birds sang their melodic songs, calling to one another, as if arranging a competition for the most sonorous and joyful trills. Their voices wove into a symphony of nature that enveloped everyone who contributed light and sound to this realm.

          Against the backdrop of this idyll, like a shadow misplaced, she walked. Her steps were quiet and unnoticed, like a gray mouse making its way along a busy street. Dressed in dark, concealing clothes, a long gray sweater, baggy pants, and dull sneakers, she seemed alien to this sunny world. Her figure was hidden, as if she wanted to become invisible, to escape from all the joyful glances and smiling faces.

        She carried several shopping bags—nothing special, just essentials. Her head was lowered, her long hair, gathered in a careless ponytail, obscuring her face. She tried not to meet the gazes of those around her, as if afraid someone might recognize her behind this disguise. Children laughed around her, birds sang, the wind played with leaves, but she seemed to be oblivious to it all. It was as if she were behind a glass wall—visible but unreachable.

        She approached the intersection, and her steps slowed when the traffic light turned red. She stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, looking at the road ahead but not seeing it. Cars rushed by, their engines roaring, filling the silence that increasingly pressed upon her.

        The sun, so kind and gentle to everyone else, became a tormentor for her. It mercilessly beat down on her covered clothing, piercing even through the fabric, as if trying to burn away all her strength and energy. The heat wrapped around her in a thick, invisible blanket, turning every moment of waiting into real torture. Sweat trickled down her forehead in tiny droplets, sticking to her skin, and she automatically brushed it away, but found no relief.

        She stood at the traffic light, feeling as though the sun’s rays were squeezing her, draining her energy. The air, so fresh and pleasant just a moment ago, now felt thick and heavy, hard to breathe in. Her thoughts, scattered and dull, offered no respite. The whole world around her continued its life, enjoying this beautiful day, while she stood like a statue, frozen under the scorching sun.

        At that moment, she wanted to run away—not just cross the street, but escape to somewhere without this light, these sounds, this oppressive feeling of her own helplessness. But her legs felt rooted to the asphalt, and all she could do was wait for the traffic light to finally change, giving her the chance to leave and hide from these suffocating sensations. That red light seemed to last an eternity, holding her in place, reminding her that her life, too, was frozen, as if in endless waiting for something that would never come.

        Taking a heavy sigh, she looked at the traffic light again. The red light was still glowing, and her impatience grew. Cars sped by, their speeds and sounds creating a restless chaos she knew well. At that moment, she suddenly felt an urge to step forward, to drown in the noise and movement, to dissolve into it like a whirlpool.

        Memories began to surface in her mind—scenes from her childhood that seemed distant yet still troubled her. She saw in her thoughts how her mother yelled when she couldn’t manage her irritation, how her classmates laughed at her clumsiness or failures. Those moments of injustice and pain, those screams and mockeries—they were like dark stains on her past that wouldn’t let go.

        Inside her mind, chaos erupted, no less than the one she observed outside. Voices—there were many, and they all mixed together at once. One voice urged her to act, another frightened and judged her, a third reminded her that her inner world had long been defeated by the external. They whispered and shouted, poisoning her thoughts and creating a sense of losing herself in her own consciousness.

        She stood still, watching the cars as if searching in their swift movement for an answer or a way out. At that moment, her mind was captive to these painful memories and pressing sensations. The heat of the sun, the noise from the passing cars, and her own inner demons created unbearable pressure. And perhaps for a moment, it seemed to her that stepping into this chaos would be easier than remaining here, in a state of agonizing anticipation and internal turmoil.

        At the moment when she was ready to step into the chaos, she was suddenly touched from behind. She turned around and saw a little girl standing next to her mother. The girl was dressed in a bright dress, with two neat pigtails fluttering playfully in the wind. She was tugging at the girl’s pants, her face showing lively interest and concern.

        The little girl looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes and, unable to hold back, said:

— Hello.

        She froze in place, staring at the girl with a slight tremor in her voice. Her words, simple and sincere, rang out in the silence like a small but significant reminder of human kindness.

        The mother, noticing her daughter’s embarrassment and uncertainty, approached and, picking her up, apologized:

   — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. We’re just looking for the way to the park, and she… she often tugs at everyone she likes. I’m very sorry for disturbing you.

        The mother was dressed in a light dress and looked concerned, her expression a mix of guilt and confusion. She hugged her daughter, who, clinging to her arms, continued to look at the girl with interest.

        She stood still, her inner anxieties momentarily fading in the face of this unexpected display of human connection. She smiled quietly, trying to hide her internal struggle:

— It’s alright, — she replied, her voice soft and weary. — The park? Yes, it’s over there, just turn right at that café and cross the street, and you’ll see the signs.

        The mother nodded, thanked her, and, holding her daughter, began to move in the direction indicated. The little girl looked back at her once more and, bidding farewell, waved her hand.

        She, standing in place, watched them leave, and a sense of relief fluttered in her heart. At that moment, as she felt this brief but genuine contact with another person, her own fears and torments momentarily dissolved, giving way to simple human warmth.

Without even realizing it, she whispered:

— Mom…

        At that moment, the light turned green. She took a step forward, crossing the road. Cars rushed by, and she, without thinking about anything, simply walked on. The bright, warm rays of the sun touched her face, but she didn't care. She walked straight, oblivious to the noise and bustle around her, until she reached the other side of the street.

I stared at the blank screen, feeling the familiar mix of anticipation and dread settle in my stomach. The soft whir of my computer filled the silence, a low hum that seemed to echo in the quiet room. For a moment, I just sat there, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitating. The reflection of my face in the dark monitor was unguarded, vulnerable—a version of me no one else ever saw.

A deep breath. Then another.

I pushed away the thoughts that threatened to surface and clicked the mouse, bringing the screen to life. The bright colors of my streaming software flashed before me, a stark contrast to the shadows that had been creeping into my mind all day. Notifications from fans scrolled across the screen—messages of excitement, anticipation, and love. They were waiting for me, expecting me to be the person they saw every evening. The one who made them smile, who played music for them, who shared snippets of her "perfect" life.

I adjusted the ring light, tilting it just so until my face was bathed in its soft, flattering glow. I knew exactly how to position it to hide the dark circles under my eyes, to make my smile seem a little brighter, my eyes a little more alive. I reached for my guitar, the familiar weight of it grounding me for a moment. The strings were cool under my fingers as I strummed a few chords, the notes filling the room with a sound that was comforting, even if only for a moment.

    Music has always been a part of my life. From an early age, I learned to play various musical instruments. To be honest, I was never interested in music. Writing songs and performing them on stage was my mother's dream, but it never came true. Maybe that's why I learned everything at her whim. And no... I'm not mad at my mom because of this. On the contrary, at least music remained something she was proud of. Mom was proud of my achievements. And I... I wanted to sing for myself. It's a shame that my mother never understood this. Surely, if she saw me now, she would laugh and... What else would she do if she were here?

The timer made itself known. It was time to take the “stage.” I sighed and put all thoughts of the past aside. There's no time for that now. I set the phone down and leaned in, clicking the "Go Live" button. The countdown began, and I smiled, holding the guitar closer to my chest.

3... 2... 1...

"Hey, everyone!" I greeted with the practiced enthusiasm that had become second nature to me. The chat exploded with greetings, hearts, and words of love. "Wow, so many people tonight. I am happy to see all of you."The comments blurred together, a constant stream of positivity and support. It was like a drug, their energy feeding me, keeping me afloat even as I felt myself drifting. "You're always so positive!" someone typed. "How do you do it?"

"So, let’s start as usual. I have new songs for you. I have been working on them for two months."

                                                                                                                       -{2 months?

                                                                                                                       -{What took you so long?

                                                                                                                        -{Sing it!

                                                                                                                       -{Good evening!

There are more comments today than usual. People came to my live broadcasts to have fun and listen to songs. That's what I thought. Now, there are people who just write angry comments. They seem to like it.Tapping my fingers on the guitar, I smiled at the camera and said, "No name yet. That's why I need your help. Let's get started."

I looked at my old guitar. I leaned a little forward, letting my fingers dance over the strings as I played a melody—something upbeat and catchy. My voice joined the music, effortlessly hitting the notes, the words flowing as if they belonged to me, even though they didn't.

                                                    "Running through the space

                                                    To find the dreams I lost

                                                    As time passes by

                                                    I am losing my voice

                                                    The echoes fade away

                                                    In the corridors of night

                                                    Chasing shadows that remain

                                                    Out of reach, out of sight

                                                    But I keep on running

                                                   Through this endless maze

                                                    Hoping to find

                                                    The dream with all of us…"

But as I played, the lyrics of my own song kept running through my mind. The contrast between the words I was singing now and the ones I had written last night felt like a sharp edge pressing against my skin. I wanted to sing my song, to let them hear the real me, but I knew I couldn’t. Not tonight. The minutes stretched into hours, and I lost myself in the rhythm of it all.

The screen was filled with comments. There were many of them. Someone liked my song and sent a lot of hearts. I smiled at them and thanked them. But at that very moment, one comment caught my attention.

-{Plagiarism. He can't play the guitar and has no voice at all. He also steals other people's songs and passes them off as his own. Just like all other bloggers. They can’t do anything themselves, but they only want money. Better stop.

Resentment arose inside. I wanted to prove the opposite to this person, but I couldn’t. It became scary; what if he was just waiting for such a reaction? And everything I said would be used against me. I hate people like that.

Squeezing my guitar, I continued the live broadcast. Pretending that I didn’t notice his comment, I kept playing. And all the while, the comments continued to flood in. They couldn't be stopped.

The broadcast was winding down now, my energy beginning to falter. I knew I couldn’t keep this up much longer, not tonight. "Okay, guys, I think that’s it for today," I said, forcing one last bright smile. "Thank you for hanging out with me! You know I love you all. See you next time!" As I clicked the "End Stream" button, the screen went dark, and I saw myself. The reflection wasn’t clear, but I noticed the smile. Too fake. The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. I leaned back in my chair, the smile fading from my lips as quickly as it had appeared. The guitar sat next to me, but I didn’t reach for it. I was tired of it.

***

She woke up with a start, her neck aching from the awkward position she'd fallen asleep in. The screen of her computer, now dimmed, displayed the aftermath of her broadcast—a list of comments, some supportive, others critical, all frozen in time. She blinked, trying to shake off the drowsiness that clung to her, and realized she must have dozed off right there at her desk.

With a tired sigh, she rubbed her eyes and glanced at the time. It was well past midnight. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the emotional toll of the evening had clearly drained her more than she realized. She pushed her chair back and stood up, intending to finally crawl into bed and get some proper rest.

But just as she turned off the computer and started toward the bed, a noise from outside caught her attention. It was faint, almost indistinguishable at first, but enough to make her pause. She stood still, listening, her senses now fully alert.

The noise came again—this time, it was clearer, a rustling sound, like something or someone moving through the bushes. Her heart skipped a beat, and she moved cautiously toward the window, peering out into the darkness.

At first, she saw nothing but the moonlit garden, still and silent. She was about to dismiss it as her imagination playing tricks on her when the noise came again, louder this time, accompanied by a shadowy movement near the fence.

Her breath caught as she squinted, focusing on a figure partially hidden behind one of the larger bushes. The person wasn’t just standing there; he was crouching low, as if trying to stay out of sight. She watched for a moment, her mind racing with questions. Who was this person, and what was he doing in her garden in the middle of the night?

It was then that she noticed the way the figure kept glancing toward the street, his body tense, as if he was waiting for something—or hiding from someone. The realization that he wasn’t simply lurking but was in fact avoiding detection from another party sent a new wave of unease through her.

Whoever this was, he was in trouble. And he had chosen her garden as their refuge.

She didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to help, to go outside and see what was happening. But the fear of the unknown kept her rooted in place. If this person was in danger, that meant danger could be close by, too close for comfort. She had to make a decision—and fast.

The night outside her window was a quiet, suffocating blanket of darkness, but inside, her heart raced so loudly she could almost hear it. She crept closer to the window, peeking out just enough to see the shadow of the boy still lingering in her garden. She couldn't make out his face clearly through the fogged-up glass, but his sudden movements, a shift here, a glance there, made her freeze.

A sharp noise broke the silence—he was moving toward her window.

Before she had time to process it, she ducked under the window, crouching low. What is happening?Her breath hitched in her throat, her fingers trembling as she pressed them against the cool floor, steadying herself. Who is he, and why does he keep looking up here? The questions swirled in her mind, only heightening the tension in her body.

And then—knock, knock.

The sound was soft, barely audible, yet distinct enough in the quiet of the night that she couldn’t mistake it for anything else. Her heart raced even faster now, a cold sweat forming on her palms. He’s knocking at my window?

For a moment, she froze, her mind reeling. What was she supposed to do? Call for help? Run? Stay hidden? The fear anchored her in place, but her curiosity, mixed with some strange sense of urgency, made her slowly peek above the edge of the window again.

The boy was closer now, so close that he could easily see her if he looked directly through the glass. He was crouched low, his face partially concealed by the hood of his jacket, but there was something oddly familiar about him. She couldn’t place it, but his silhouette, the way he carried himself, stirred something in her memory.

Her breath caught as their eyes met again. This time, the fear was mutual, not just in her, but in him too. He raised his hands quickly, palms open, signaling to her. The gesture was so unexpected that it stopped her in her tracks. He wasn’t trying to get in, wasn’t trying to force anything—he was asking, pleading even. His lips moved soundlessly, but she understood the message: It’s okay. Please don’t be scared.

She hesitated for a long moment, her mind racing through the possibilities. She didn’t know who he was, but something about his presence, that flicker of familiarity, made her stay. He wasn’t acting like someone dangerous, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he was still a stranger. Why here?

Suddenly, the muffled sound of distant voices reached her ears, drawing her attention away from the man at her window. Someone was nearby, a group of people walking in the distance. They were talking, their voices low but urgent. The boy outside glanced over his shoulder toward the sound, his posture stiffening as if preparing to flee. That same silent plea returned to his eyes as he looked back at her, desperation now unmistakable.

Without fully understanding why, she found herself making a decision. The moment felt like it had slipped out of her control. Slowly, carefully, she unlocked the window and slid it open, just enough to allow the cool night air to spill inside. The boy’s relief was palpable. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes said enough—he was grateful.

“Hurry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the wind.

The boy slipped through the narrow gap and into her room with practiced ease, moving quickly but quietly.

The room was dark, but it didn’t seem to slow him down as he swiftly moved to hide behind the thick curtains by the corner of the room. She could barely breathe as she closed the window again, trying to remain as silent as possible. The cold night air still lingered in the room, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

     Just as she latched the window shut, footsteps echoed outside, louder and more distinct this time. The voices she’d heard earlier were now closer—too close for comfort. She knelt down by the side of the window, pressing herself flat against the wall to avoid being seen. Her mind raced, and her heart pounded so hard she feared they might hear it.The boy behind her remained silent, hidden away behind the curtains, but she could feel his tension. He was holding his breath, just like her, waiting for the voices to pass.

"He couldn’t have gone far,” one of the voices said, rough and frustrated.

    “I swear I saw someone run this way,” another replied, equally on edge.

   Her throat tightened. They’re looking for him, she realized. She could see the faint outline of shadows passing by the window as they moved closer to her house, their boots crunching against the gravel in the driveway. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the panic that threatened to rise. What if they came inside? What if they knocked on her door? What was she supposed to do?

The boy behind the curtain shifted slightly, his figure barely visible in the dim light. He remained still but alert, ready to act at any moment. She dared not turn around to look at him, afraid that even the slightest movement would draw attention. She could only hope they would pass by and leave without noticing anything.

One of the men outside paused, his shadow lingering near the window. She could hear the sound of him exhaling deeply, as though frustrated with the search. “Let’s move on. If he’s not here, we’re wasting time,” he muttered.

   After a moment that felt like an eternity, the footsteps began to fade, the group moving away from her house. She didn’t move until the last of their voices disappeared into the distance, and even then, she waited several more moments, afraid they might return.

  When the silence settled back over the house, she finally exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath the whole time. She stood up slowly, her legs shaky from the tension, and turned around to face the stranger. He was still hiding behind the curtains, but now he stepped forward cautiously, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of anger or fear.

   “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the first time he’d spoken, and she wasn’t sure what she expected, but there was something almost soothing about it.

"What’s going on?” she finally asked, her voice more steady than she felt. “Why are they looking for you?"

The boy didn’t answer right away. He lowered his head, seemingly debating how much to tell her. His face, now more visible in the dim light of her room, was young—maybe a few years older than her, with sharp features softened by exhaustion. He seemed familiar, but she still couldn’t place where she’d seen him before.

The silence after the group outside left was almost deafening. She let out a shaky breath, her pulse slowly starting to calm as the tension in the room lifted. The boy stepped out from behind the curtains, his eyes scanning her face, a soft, almost relieved smile curling on his lips.

But before she could respond, the boy’s legs wobbled. His smile faded as his body swayed, and then, as if the weight of everything had finally caught up to him, he collapsed to the floor with a dull thud.

“Hey!” she gasped, rushing toward him, her heart pounding again, this time with panic. Her hands trembled as she quickly flicked on the light, her fingers fumbling over the switch.

The room was suddenly bathed in a soft yellow glow, and for the first time, she could see him clearly. His face was pale, lips slightly parted, as if he’d been struggling to breathe. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his chest rose and fell unevenly. Kneeling beside him, she gently shook his shoulder, her voice frantic.

"Hey! Are you okay? Wake up!"

The boy groaned softly but didn’t open his eyes. His head lolled to the side, and that’s when she saw them—his eyes. Even closed, their bright blue color stood out, as if the faintest sliver of his eyelids still revealed them. They were a startling shade of blue, the kind of blue that reminded her of the sky on a cloudless day, deep and endless. I've seen those eyes before, she thought, the feeling of familiarity washing over her.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. His condition looked serious.

“Please, wake up!” she urged, her voice breaking slightly as she leaned closer, shaking him again.

The boy stirred slightly, letting out a soft groan, but his body remained limp. Panic surged through her as she glanced around the room. She had no idea what to do. Call an ambulance? No... If she did that, she’d have to explain why there was an unconscious stranger in her house. And worse, those men outside—they were clearly looking for him. If they found him in her home, there would be consequences.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she grabbed the blanket from her bed and gently draped it over him. His breathing was shallow, but at least it was steady. She crouched down beside him, her mind racing.

What have I gotten myself into? she thought, staring at the boy’s unconscious face.

His soft, ragged breaths filled the room as she sat down beside him, trying to piece together the situation. There was no denying it now—she recognized him. Those eyes. But from where? From when?

She leaned in closer, studying his features. His messy brown hair fell over his forehead, damp with sweat, and his sharp jawline, softened by his youth, seemed familiar. She bit her lip, trying to remember. Maybe from her school days? Or some distant memory from childhood?

Suddenly, the boy stirred again, this time with more effort. His eyes fluttered open briefly, just long enough for her to catch another glimpse of that brilliant blue. “W-what... happened?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse, barely audible.

“You collapsed,” she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “Do you... remember anything? Why are you being chased?”

His eyelids drooped again, his body too weak to fully wake. “I... I didn’t... do anything,” he muttered. His words were slow, slurred by exhaustion. “Nothing bad at least. They just... They just don't have a sense of humor"

“Who are they?” she pressed, leaning closer to catch every word. The boy chuckled a little and then suddenly groaned in pain.

But his head rolled to the side, and his breathing slowed again. He was unconscious. She let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back on her heels. This is bad. She didn’t know who “they” were, why they were after him, or why he had chosen her house as his safe haven.

She sat beside him for a while, the silence stretching on, only broken by his uneven breaths. She stood up and walked over to the window, peeking outside. The street was deserted again, no sign of the group that had passed by earlier. Maybe they’d given up, or maybe they were still searching somewhere nearby.

She turned back toward the boy, now lying motionless on her floor, and sighed deeply. This whole situation was spinning out of control. She could feel it in her bones. But now that he was here, she couldn’t just turn her back on him. She had to figure out what to do next.

“Who are you?” she whispered softly, half to herself, half to the unconscious boy.

A part of her wanted to wake him up again, shake him until he gave her the answers she needed. But another part of her knew that would do no good. He was too weak, too exhausted to tell her anything useful. She’d have to wait until he recovered—if he recovered.

The minutes dragged on, and eventually, she found herself sitting down beside him again, her back against the wall. The faint hum of the night outside crept into the room, but her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events that had just unfolded. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something much bigger was happening. Something she had unwittingly been dragged into.

Hours later, the boy stirred again. This time, he blinked, his blue eyes clearer, though still clouded with fatigue. He looked at her and sighed. He slowly sat up, groaning as he clutched his side. “I... I’m sorry,” he muttered, glancing around as if he was unsure where he was.

“Don’t be,” she replied, crossing her arms as she sat beside him. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

He nodded weakly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll explain... but... not everything... it’s not safe for you to know.”

Her patience wore thin. “Not safe for me?” she repeated, incredulous. “You barged into my house, nearly passed out on my floor, and now you’re telling me it’s ‘not safe’ for me to know what’s happening? You can’t be serious.”

He winced at her sharp tone, but his expression remained solemn. “It’s... complicated.”

“Start with your name, at least,” she said, her tone softening slightly.

He hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. “It’s Loid,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Loid,” she repeated, watching his face carefully. The name rang no bells.

“I really didn’t want to involve you,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But I had no choice. They would’ve found me if I hadn’t hidden here.”

“Who are they?” she asked again, this time more gently.

He shook his head. “They think I did something... something bad. But I swear I didn’t.” His voice cracked slightly, and he looked up at her with those piercing blue eyes, pleading for her to believe him. "I just wanted to show them we are friends."

“And you expect me to trust you?” she said, though there was no anger in her voice now—only confusion and concern.

Loud exhaled slowly, pressing his hand against his side where he was clearly in pain. “I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “But... I promise, I’m not lying.”

The silence stretched between them once again, but this time, it wasn’t as suffocating. She studied his face, her thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of uncertainty. Could she really trust him?