The theater was a cavern of shadows.
Rows upon rows of velvet seats stretched into the dark, their emptiness swallowing every faint echo of footsteps. Dust drifted lazily through a single cone of light that spilled from above, illuminating the stage like an island adrift in a sea of gloom.
There, beneath that pale spotlight, a young man stood alone.
He clutched a crumpled page in trembling hands. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and every heartbeat thundered in his ears like a drum counting down.
He lifted his gaze toward the audience. Most of the faces blurred together in the dark, but one stood out—an old man seated in the front row.
His posture was perfect. His expression unreadable. His eyes sharp and measuring, the kind that dissected rather than watched.
The young man's throat tightened. His breath quivered.
Then he began.
His words flowed at first, gentle and steady, filled with conviction. Each syllable trembled with sincerity, the kind that makes a room hold its breath.
But the tremor became a stutter.
The stutter became silence.
And silence became suffocating.
He froze.
A faint ripple of laughter stirred somewhere in the crowd, soft at first, then louder, crueler, merciless.
He looked up again.
The old man's eyes hadn't moved. They were calm, almost serene, but behind them was something far worse than anger.
Disappointment.
It hollowed him out.
His chest tightened. His lungs refused to draw air. The page slipped from his hand and fluttered soundlessly to the stage floor.
He ran.
Through the curtains.
Through the dim corridors.
Until the laughter behind him blurred into a ghostly hum that followed him through every turn.
When he burst through the theater doors, the world greeted him with a downpour. Rain lashed against his face, mixing with the warmth of his tears.
Still, he ran.
Through streets slick with neon light, each breath dragging against the weight in his chest. His reflection flickered on rain-streaked glass—a stranger, broken and breathless.
He didn't know where he was going. Only that he couldn't stop.
When his legs finally gave out, he found himself standing at the edge of an overpass.
The city shimmered below—a thousand fractured lights, a thousand unfulfilled dreams.
He lifted his face to the storm.
And in the blur of rain and memory, he saw them.
His parents.
Smiling faintly, the way they used to when the world was still kind.
"Mom... Dad..." His voice cracked. "I tried. I really did."
The words trembled, then broke apart in the rain. He pressed a hand to his chest as if to stop the ache, as if to hold the last of himself together.
"But maybe... I should have just followed you."
Drip...
Drip...
The rain swallowed his tears, blurring them into the storm until they were no longer his own.
A step...
And another...
Each one heavier than the last.
A hush.
The rain swallowed everything.
And then—
Silence.