I was singing to fifty thousand people.
Fifty thousand screaming voices.
Fifty thousand phones lighting up like stars.
But my eyes found just one.
He wasn't waving lightsticks or jumping like the rest.
He wasn't crying or chanting or begging for a glimpse of my gaze.
He was… still.
Arms crossed. Plain hoodie. Eyes fixed.
Like he saw right through me.
And i—
I smiled.
That was rare. My members would probably freak out backstage.
Because smiling on stage wasn't my thing. I sang. I danced. I delivered.
I didn't smile unless it was required.
Unless the cameras were in my face.
Unless the moment demanded it.
But this time?
My lips moved before i could stop them.
A smile. Just for him.
And then—
I couldn't breathe.
My knees buckled, the mic slipped from my hand, and the world tilted violently under my feet.
The screaming faded.
The lights blurred.
My chest tightened like I was drowning in silence.
But the last thing i saw, before the black swallowed me whole—
Was him.
Pushing through the barricades.
Running toward me.
Reaching.
And i woke up.
Breathless. Disoriented.
My heart thudding like it still hadn't left the stage.
I sat up on the small sofa bed I borrowed from the caretaker's daughter. The fan was humming beside me, pushing warm air around the tiny apartment. My lips were dry. My tank top was clinging to my back from sweat.
There was no concert.
No lights.
No screaming fans.
No him.
Just four cement walls, a curtain fluttering weakly in the window, and the buzz of early morning in a sleepy town.
I reached for the bottled water on the floor. Drank. Didn't even sit properly. My legs were tangled in the blanket and i didn't care.
"Sino 'yon?" I whispered.
Ken.
The name echoed in my chest like a memory i didn't own.
My head throbbed slightly.
Maybe from the heat.
Maybe from the dream.
Or maybe… from the collapse.
Because that part wasn't a dream.
After months of back-to-back tours across Asia, my body gave out.
I collapsed.
On stage.
In real life.
Not in some imaginary neon-drenched concert fantasy.
I was hospitalized, injected with IV fluids, and put on mandatory rest. My company agreed to a break, but under surveillance. I said no. I needed silence. Somewhere far. Somewhere I didn't have to perform even in my sleep.
So I ran away. To this town. To this apartment that smelled of linoleum and paint.
Nobody here cared who i was.
Nobody asked for autographs.
Nobody chased me with cameras.
I could wear slippers to the sari-sari store.
I could breathe.
At least… I thought i could.
Until Ken.
Until the dream.
I stepped outside the unit, barefoot and blank-faced. Morning sun was already unforgiving. I squinted. Lit a cigarette.
I didn't smoke often.
Only when i wanted to remember i was human.
Only when i needed to feel something warm in my lungs that wasn't pressure.
I stood there, quiet. The only sound was the chirping of birds and some neighbor's radio from three doors down.
And then—
A door opened beside mine.
Click.
Footsteps.
A bag being dropped.
I didn't turn.
Not immediately.
But i felt it.
A presence.
Someone… moving in.
I shifted slightly.
Just enough to glance sideways.
There he was.
Black shirt.
Laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
Same face.
Same damn eyes.
The hoodie was different.
But the energy, the strange familiarity was the same.
What the f***?
My cigarette paused mid-air.
He looked at me.
Not in awe.
Not like a fan.
Just a normal look. Curious, but not invasive.
"Hi," he said, voice calm, unshaken. "I'm your new neighbor. Ken."
I stared.
From head to toe.
Expression unreadable.
Then looked away.
And continued smoking.
No smile. No introduction. No handshake.
He didn't push.
He just nodded to himself and entered his unit. Quietly.
Click. Door shut.
That was it.
But for some reason, my pulse refused to slow down.
I went back inside after finishing the cigarette. I hated the smell. I hated how it stuck to my hair. But it gave me something to do while my brain tried to shut up.
Ken.
So that was real?
Or... wait.
Is this some long con?
Was he a fan? Did he know who i was?
I glanced at my reflection in the dusty mirror beside the sink.
Messy bun. Eye bags. Oversized shirt with a hole near the hem.
No way anyone would guess i was Cassandra Alcantara of NOVA5.
At least not right now.
And besides…
He didn't look starstruck.
He looked like…
I don't know.
Like we'd met before.
But we hadn't.
Had we?
I lay back down on the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
Sino ka?
Bakit parang… may pagitan sa'tin?
As if the air between us remembered something my head had forgotten.
Was it the dream bleeding into reality?
Was i hallucinating from overwork?
Or was there something more?
Another life?
Another version of me?
Of him?
I shook the thoughts off and stood up again. I hated spiraling. That's how they win. The voices. The industry. The doubts.
So i took a shower. Brushed my teeth. Made instant coffee with 3-in-1.
My phone had no new messages.
As expected.
My members gave me space.
My manager respected the silence.
The company knew better than to nag.
I was the heart of NOVA5. But even a heart needs rest.
I drank the coffee in slow sips, watching the curtain dance with the fan's weak wind. Then, before i even knew why i was doing it, I walked to the window.
It overlooked a small street.
Tricycles passed lazily.
Vendors shouted half-heartedly.
And across the narrow balcony divider—
There he was again.
Ken.
Setting up what looked like a standing desk.
His sliding door was slightly open, letting the breeze in.
I watched him from behind the curtain.
He placed a monitor. Plugged a keyboard. Fixed the wiring with care. Very organized. Efficient.
Then he stepped back and nodded to himself.
A software engineer, maybe? He didn't have the vibe of someone in sales or social media. No ring light. No noise. Just tech.
I backed away before he could see me watching.
What the hell is this?
A guy i've never met in my life, but dreamed of like we had decades together?
And now he's literally next door?
Coincidence?
Fate?
Bullsh*t.
I don't believe in fate.
I write love songs for a living. I sell fairytales. I sing about forever.
But in real life? Love is strategy. Survival. Image.
Nobody really stays.
Not unless they have something to gain.
And yet—
That man.
That name.
That dream.
They won't let me go.
Later that night, I stepped out again.
No makeup. No phone. Just air and silence.
Ken's lights were still on.
His curtain was closed now.
No sound. No movement.
I sat on the edge of the stairs and looked up at the stars.
Then i whispered, so softly even i barely heard it:
"Who are you?"
The stars didn't answer.
The wind didn't care.
But my chest tightened all the same.