The walk back to Sasha's apartment was done in a tense silence. Stella kept her arm around her friend's shoulders, serving as an anchor so she wouldn't lose herself again in the whirlwind of social phobia.
As soon as they entered the small apartment, the sound of the lock turning seemed to bring Sasha her first real breath in half an hour. The place smelled of coffee and the wood of instruments; it was the only place where she didn't have to be anyone but herself.
Sasha threw herself onto the sofa, hiding her face in her hands, while Stella walked to the kitchen to prepare some tea
—though her movements were abrupt, betraying her pent-up anger.
— He saw me, Stella...
— Sasha's voice came out muffled.
— He didn't just find out I'm Lani; he found me in my safe place. How did he do it? I never showed my face, I use voice filters, I...
— Calm down.
— Stella returned, sitting on the arm of the sofa. She pulled the black card from her pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table. The name "Scott" seemed to glow like a threat.
— These big agency guys have resources, Sasha. They track IPs, analyze reflections in windows in your videos, recognize the background of your room... They are professionals at invading lives.
Sasha looked at the card with dread.
— And Isaac? Did you see how he looked at me? He defended me from a "madman," but he has no idea I lied to his face. I said Scott confused me... but Isaac is so honest, Stella. I felt like trash.
Stella sighed, softening her expression.
— You didn't lie to be mean; you lied for survival. And Isaac... well, he has his own ghosts. Did you hear what that Scott guy said about his smile? That hit Isaac right in the gut. He was upset not just for you, but because that guy saw something in him that no one else sees.
The Temptation of the Bass
Sasha stood up and walked to the corner of the room where her electric bass rested on its stand. She ran her fingers across the strings, producing a deep, mournful sound that reverberated through her chest.
— He said my talent was a scream
— Sasha murmured.
— And he's right. I scream through the strings because my throat closes up when I try to talk to real people.
She looked at her computer, where the streamer setup was turned off.
— If I call this number, Stella... can I finally lose the fear? Or will I just become a puppet for that agency?
Stella stood up and stood beside her, serious.
— If you call, you'll be playing his game. "Phantom Agency" doesn't want to help Sasha overcome her phobia. They want "Lani" as a profitable product. But...
— Stella hesitated
— if you want to face this, it has to be on your terms. Not because of some black card left by an idiot in an overcoat.
Sasha picked up the card and turned it over. On the back, something was written by hand in perfect calligraphy:
"Silence is a comfortable prison, but the stage is where you truly breathe. Think about it, Lani."
Sasha felt a chill. She didn't know what was scarier: the fact that Scott was pursuing her, or the fact that somewhere deep in her soul, she felt he was right.
Glass Scars and Digital Shadows
Sasha sat on the floor, leaning her back against the side of the sofa, right next to where her bass stood. She began to pluck the strings without plugging the instrument into the amplifier, just listening to the dry, metallic sound echo in the silent apartment.
Stella sat beside her, crossing her legs. The heavy atmosphere left by Scott brought back memories that the two had avoided for years.
Glass Scars and Digital Shadows
— Do you remember the break in the middle school courtyard?
— Sasha asked, her voice so low it almost disappeared.
— When I used to take my bass for that band rehearsal that never actually happened?
Stella sighed, her gaze softening with the painful memory.
— I remember. You would sit on the stairs. You didn't say a word, but when you started singing and playing, it seemed like the whole school stopped. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, Sasha.
Sasha let out a bitter laugh, her eyes fixed on the void.
— Yeah. But that was exactly the problem: people stopping to watch. I thought talent would help me make friends, but it only put a target on my back.
— Those girls...
— Stella clenched her fists, the anger from ten years ago still alive.
— They couldn't stand the fact that you had something they never would. Their shine was fake; yours was real.
Sasha shuddered. The memories of the bullying returned like flashes: the mocking laughter, the hidden videos recorded of her singing just to be used as a joke, the verbal aggression that bordered on constant moral harassment. They would corner her in the bathroom, tell her she was "weird," that her voice was irritating, and they even damaged the strings of her bass once. The harassment was so heavy and persistent that it turned Sasha's joy into panic.
— They broke something in me, Stella
— Sasha vented, the tears returning.
— The day they surrounded me behind the gym and kept pushing me, screaming that I would never be anyone... that was when my voice vanished. That was when I learned that if I showed up, I would be hurt.
— That's why you created Lani, wasn't it?
— Stella asked softly.
— It was. On the computer, with the avatar you drew, no one can corner me. No one can touch me. I can sing without fear of being pushed against a wall.
— Sasha looked at Scott's card on the table.
— And now this man shows up, wanting to throw me back into that school courtyard. He wants me to show my face to the world, Stella. But the world, to me, still looks like those girls.
Stella held Sasha's hand firmly.
— You're not that helpless girl anymore, Sasha. And I'm still here. Besides...
— Stella paused, thinking about what happened at the coffee shop.
— You saw Isaac today. He's not like those people from your past. He stood up to Scott without even knowing who you really were.
Sasha looked at her friend. The past hurt, but for the first time in a long time, the idea that there were people like Isaac
—who defended her silence instead of trying to break it by force
—brought a small, fragile ray of hope.
The Weight of Silence
Isaac's departure from the coffee shop was no ordinary goodbye. It was a silent escape that left the air thick with static electricity. The service door's bell was still swaying slightly when David and Valentina approached the counter, staring down the empty hallway where their friend had disappeared.
Valentina, who always had a joke ready or a complaint about David's "slacking," had a somber face. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes fixed on the door.
— He's not okay
— Valentina murmured, her voice losing its authoritative tone and gaining a maternal hue.
— I know that look. It's the look of someone reliving a war that no one else saw.
David, usually the group's clown, wasn't smiling. He wiped the counter nervously in the same spot, repeating the movement endlessly.
— I tried to talk to him, Val...
— David sighed, tossing the cloth over his shoulder.
— But he shouted at me. Isaac never shouts. He'd rather die inside than be rude to someone. That guy, that Scott... he didn't just walk in here; he ripped the floor out from under Isaac's feet.
In the corner, Afonso closed his laptop with a dry thud. He stood up slowly, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, his posture hunched as usual. He looked at the two of them, and for a brief second, his cynicism vanished.
— He won't answer his phone
— Afonso said, his voice raspy.
— Types like Isaac... when the past bites, they hide in dark holes to bleed alone. He prides himself on being closed off; he thinks it makes him wise. But today... he just looked like he was drowning.
The Closing of the Coffee Shop
They began to close the place in a melancholy silence. David turned off the main lights, leaving only the neon display in the window illuminating the empty room. Valentina paused at the door before locking everything up, looking at the chair where the stranger, Scott, had been sitting.
— I feel like things will never be the same here
— she said with a sigh.
— First little Sasha runs out in a panic, now Isaac disappears with that ghostly look.
— We need to do something
— David insisted, staring out into the dark street.
— We can't leave him alone with whatever that Scott guy awakened.
Afonso stopped on the sidewalk, adjusting his hoodie.
— Sometimes
— the young man said, looking in the direction Isaac had taken
— the only thing you can do for someone in the dark is to make sure that when they decide to come back, the light is still on.
They said their goodbyes with short nods, each going their separate way, but all with the same lingering thought: Would the Isaac who returned to work tomorrow be the same smiling guy they once knew?
The Echo of a Lie
Flashback: 5 Years Ago
The setting was an arts college campus. Isaac was 18, his hair messier, and his smile, back then, was real. He held his guitar, laughing with a light-haired girl: his ex-girlfriend.
She was ambitious to the extreme. She wanted the spotlight at any cost, but her talent couldn't keep up with her desire for fame. Isaac, in his naivety and passion, tried to support her, composing for her and attending every rehearsal. He didn't realize that her frustration was turning into acidic poison.
Isaac didn't understand the danger until the day after they broke up
—the day the police knocked on his dorm room door. He remembered the shock of seeing the video circulating on every social media platform: her, crying before the camera, with makeup marks simulating bruises on her face, telling a horror story about an Isaac that never existed.
The accusation of abuse was like an atomic bomb. Isaac saw his friends turn their backs, his guitar cast aside, and his name dragged through the mud by thousands of strangers who "bought" her narrative to feed their engagement. The case was dismissed months later; the contradictions in her testimony and the lack of evidence were too clear for the justice system, but for the outside world, the damage was permanent. She got the attention she wanted, and Isaac was left to rot with the label of "monster," even though he was innocent.
Return to Reality
Isaac stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, breathless. He leaned against a damp wall, feeling the rain soak his shirt and the cold creep up his spine. That false accusation had taken from him his dream of music, the right to trust, and, most importantly, the capacity to love. He became the "nice, smiling guy" at the coffee shop just to build an invisible wall; a fake smile was safer than the truth.
— History is repeating itself...
— Isaac whispered to the empty night.
Seeing that elegant man in the coffee shop
—Scott
—prowling around Sasha, awakened his worst nightmares. He saw in Scott's eyes the same kind of manipulation his ex had used: the search for a "victim" or a "talent" to be used as a commodity. Isaac saw Sasha only as a fragile girl, a customer he wanted to protect, and knowing that someone like Scott was trying to "polish her glass" made his stomach churn.
Isaac gripped the straps of his backpack so hard his fingers ached. He was no longer that 18-year-old boy who cried without understanding how the world could be so cruel. He still had deep traumas and a fear of getting involved with anyone, but the cold hatred he felt now was a new kind of fuel.
If he couldn't save himself five years ago, he would do everything in his power to ensure Sasha wouldn't be the next victim of someone who lives by turning people into products or scandals.