The Duet

The days after agreeing to the duet with Hao were filled with anticipation, excitement, and a tinge of anxiety I couldn't quite shake. This wasn’t just a song anymore. It felt like something more—a bridge between us, one that would pull us closer. I was excited, but the fear of getting too close still gnawed at me. I couldn’t let him see who I really was, not yet.

After school the next day, I hurried home, threw my backpack onto the floor, and pulled out my phone. Sure enough, there was a message from Hao waiting for me.

Hao: “I’ve been thinking about songs we could do together. What about ‘Rewrite the Stars’? I know it’s kind of overdone, but I think we could make it our own.”

‘Rewrite the Stars’? I smiled to myself. Of course he would pick that song. It was a powerful duet, full of longing and hope, but also about two people who believed they couldn’t be together because of the obstacles between them. In a strange way, it felt fitting. Here we were, connecting through music, yet separated by the walls we had built around ourselves. My anonymity, his uncertainties—we both had barriers we weren’t sure how to overcome.

I replied quickly.

Me: “I love that idea! Let’s do it. When do you want to start?”

Almost immediately, his response came through.

Hao: “I was thinking maybe we could each record our parts, and then I’ll mix them together? I know it’s hard to harmonize without being in the same room, but we can try!”

The idea of trying to create something together, despite the distance, was exhilarating. I could already imagine our voices intertwining, even though we had never met in real life. It was a strange, surreal feeling to be working so closely with someone I had never even seen face-to-face.

I got to work right away. Recording my parts wasn’t difficult—I had done it so many times before—but there was something about this duet that made my heart race. It wasn’t just about the song. It was about Hao. I realized then just how much he had come to mean to me. Even though we hadn’t known each other long, his friendship had become something I relied on, something I looked forward to every day. He made me feel less alone, less invisible.

I recorded my lines, trying to imagine what it would feel like if we were singing together in the same room. In some strange way, it felt intimate, as if we were sharing something deeply personal without ever having to say it out loud. By the time I finished, my cheeks were flushed, and my heart was pounding.

I sent him the files, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Me: “Okay, my parts are done! Your turn!”

A few minutes later, he replied.

Hao: “Wow, that was fast! I’ll start recording tonight. Can’t wait to hear how it turns out.”

The next few days passed in a blur of anticipation. Every time my phone buzzed, I hoped it was Hao telling me he had finished his parts. I found myself thinking about him more and more, wondering what his life was like outside of our conversations. I didn’t even know what he looked like, but somehow, that didn’t matter. We connected in ways that felt deeper than appearances. Music was our language.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I got the message I had been waiting for.

Hao: “It’s done! I’ve mixed the track. I’m so nervous, though. Want to hear it?”

My heart leapt into my throat. This was it—the moment our voices would come together, even if only digitally.

Me: “Of course! Send it over!”

I sat there, phone in hand, waiting for the file to come through. When it finally did, I took a deep breath and hit play.

The opening chords of “Rewrite the Stars” filled my room, soft and delicate. Then, my voice came in, the familiar lyrics spilling out like a quiet confession. It was strange hearing myself like this, knowing that Hao’s voice would soon join mine. And when it did, I felt a thrill shoot through me.

His voice was rich, deeper than I had imagined, and full of emotion. Our voices blended together in a way that felt effortless, as if we had been singing together for years. There was something magical about it, something that made my chest tighten with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. We sounded... perfect together.

As the song ended, I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly, a smile spreading across my face. It was better than I could have imagined.

I quickly typed out a response.

Me: “Hao, this is amazing! We sound so good together! I’m honestly kind of speechless right now.”

There was a pause, and then his reply came through.

Hao: “You really think so? I was so nervous the whole time I was mixing it, wondering if I was doing it right. But hearing you say that makes me feel better.”

Me: “No, seriously, it’s perfect. I love it.”

Hao: “I’m glad. It feels... special, you know? Like this is more than just a cover.”

I blinked at the screen, my heart fluttering. More than just a cover? Was he feeling it too? That connection, that sense that there was something deeper between us than just a shared love for music?

I hesitated for a moment before typing.

Me: “Yeah, it does feel special. I’m really glad we did this.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything. But somehow, the quiet between us felt comfortable, like we didn’t need to fill the space with words.

Then, Hao sent another message.

Hao: “So... when are we posting it?”

I froze. Posting it. Of course. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To share our duet with the world. But the thought of it made my stomach twist. This was different from my other covers. This was something personal, something that felt almost too intimate to share with strangers.

But I couldn’t let Hao down. He was so excited about it, and I couldn’t back out now.

Me: “Whenever you’re ready.”

Later that evening, we decided to post the duet together. We synchronized our uploads, counting down from three and pressing “post” at the same time. My heart raced as I watched the screen, waiting for the first comments to roll in.

The response was immediate. People loved it.

“This is incredible! Your voices blend so well together!”

“You guys need to do more duets!”

“This is seriously beautiful. I can’t stop listening.”

Every new comment felt like a rush of adrenaline, but there was one comment that caught my eye and made my heart stop.

“Who is this guy? You two have such amazing chemistry. Are you a couple?”

My breath hitched, and my eyes stayed glued to the comment. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did. The idea that people could see something between us that I wasn’t even sure about myself... It was confusing. I wasn’t even sure what I felt for Hao, but hearing others pick up on something made me question everything.

Hao’s next message broke through my thoughts.

Hao: “Wow, people really love it. This is crazy.”

I swallowed hard, trying to push the comment from my mind.

Me: “Yeah, I’m kind of overwhelmed, honestly. But it’s a good feeling.”

Hao: “Definitely. I feel like we’ve really got something special here. Maybe we should do more duets? What do you think?”

My heart skipped a beat. More duets? The thought of it both thrilled and terrified me. Part of me wanted nothing more than to keep collaborating with him, to keep feeling that connection, that closeness. But another part of me was scared. Scared of getting too close, scared of what it all meant.

Me: “I’d love that. Let’s do it.”

Over the next few weeks, Hao and I worked on more covers together. Each one felt like a step deeper into our friendship, into whatever this was becoming between us. And while I loved every moment of it, the questions that had been nagging at me from the start only grew louder.

What if he wanted to meet in person? What if he asked me to reveal my face? Could I keep hiding behind my screen forever?

But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside. I wasn’t ready to face them. All I knew was that I didn’t want to lose Hao. Whatever this was, it felt too important, too precious to risk.

For now, the music was enough.

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