The monitor's light was the only thing illuminating Isaac's room. In his headphones, a frenetic Indie Music soundtrack played, trying unsuccessfully drown out the silence of the apartment.
Isaac scribbled in his sketchbook; the lines were firm, but the content was melancholy: a bird trapped in a cage made of distorted words.
He looked at the clock. 07:30. Time to put on his "other" skin.
The "Grão de Ouro" Café
— Good morning, David!
Isaac walked through the coffee shop door with a smile that lit up the room. His eyes shone in a way that no one would question. David, who was wiping the counter, let out a laugh and tossed the cloth over his shoulder.
— That's the spirit! The man arrived early today. I was already set to call you and say a new drama came out and I needed company to cry... and drink, of course.
— You know I'm not much of a social butterfly, David
— Isaac replied while putting on his apron.
— But I'm glad you're excited.
David paused for a second, observing his friend. To any customer, Isaac was the perfect server. But David noticed the slight tremor in Isaac's hands when a woman got too close to pick up an order, or how his smile never truly reached the corners of his eyes. It was a glass smile: beautiful, but ready to shatter.
— Man... we should go out today. No pressure. Just a beer and some bad jokes
— David insisted, trying to break the invisible barrier.
— Maybe next time?
— Isaac lied, with his habitual kindness. He felt a void in his chest. He wanted to feel like going out. He wanted to be able to trust. But the ghost of his ex's accusation still whispered in his ear that he was a monster, and that love was a dangerous trap.
Lani's Refuge
On the other side of town, in a soundproofed room with purple LED lights, Sasha took a deep breath. Her hands were sweating. She looked at the floor, leaning against the wall, and then at the monitor.
— You can do this, Sasha. They can't see you. They're seeing Lani
— she whispered to herself.
She clicked "Start Stream." Instantly, on the screen, a vibrant anime character with colorful hair appeared, mimicking her movements through the facial tracking camera.
— Hello, everyone! Lani in the house!
— Sasha's voice came out sweet, hiding the social phobia that made her avoid even the pizza delivery person.
— Today we'll have some gameplay and, if we hit the goal, I'll play a new song I wrote.
The chat exploded with messages. Sasha felt safe there. Behind Lani's avatar, she was giant. But deep down, the sadness of the lyrics she wrote
—songs about invisibility and fear
—was the only truth she allowed herself to share.
The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Stella walked in without knocking, carrying a tablet and a severe expression.
— Sasha, did you forget to eat again?
— Stella crossed her arms. She was the opposite of her friend: upright posture, leather jacket, and a gaze that intimidated anyone.
Sasha quickly muted her microphone.
— Stella! I'm live!
— Don't give me that. I designed this VTuber model to help you talk to the world, not for you to hide in it
— Stella's tone softened as she sat on the edge of the bed.
— I made some sketches for new emojis for the channel. Cute things, just the way you like.
Stella was the only one who knew the real Sasha. Tough Stella, who behind her temperamental facade, spent her nights reading romance fanfics and crying over dramas.
Sasha let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of Stella's words and the accumulated fatigue of the day. She looked at the sketches on the screen, then at her friend, feeling that familiar warmth in her chest that only Stella's loyalty could provide.
— You can lie down there and make yourself at home, I'll give you some attention in a bit.
— Oh, don't do that! That's mean...
The Indirect Encounter
At the end of the day, Isaac was exhausted from carrying the weight of his fake smile. He got home, turned on the computer, and opened the streaming platform. He needed something to keep from thinking about his own life.
He clicked on a random live stream: "Lani - Playing and Chatting."
The streamer's voice was calm, but it had a note of melancholy that resonated with Isaac. He started typing in the chat, something he rarely did.
Isaac_Art: "The background music is sad, but it's beautiful. It matches the late afternoon."
In the dark room, Sasha read the comment. For a moment, she felt that someone, even from the other side of the screen, had understood what she was feeling behind the colorful avatar.
— Thank you, Isaac_Art
— she replied, and for the first time that day, the character's smile on the screen was a reflection of a real smile from Sasha.
Two lonely worlds had just touched through a fiber optic cable.
Magnetic Resonance
Isaac froze for a second. Hearing his username pronounced by that voice
—a voice that seemed to carry the same grey velvet he hid in his drawings
—caused a strange tingling in his fingers. He wasn't one to interact, but there was something in "Lani's" cadence that didn't sound like the rehearsed theater he performed at the coffee shop.
In the chat, messages flew by in a blur: "Lani sad? Nooo!", "Play the new song!", "Isaac_Art is a creep lol." He ignored the noise.
Isaac_Art: "Sometimes the late afternoon needs a bit of melancholy to be real. Too much brightness tires the eyes."
Sasha read the message in silence. In her room, the purple LED light reflected in her wide eyes. She felt a chill. It was as if this stranger had just kicked down the door of her pixel castle and pointed to the dust in the corners.
— You're right, Isaac_Art...
— Sasha hesitated, momentarily forgetting her "cute gamer girl" script.
— The brightness is tiring. Sometimes you just want to... turn off the light and see if you still exist in the dark.
The chat cooled down a bit; the followers' confusion was palpable. But Stella, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, raised an eyebrow. She recognized that tone in Sasha's voice. It was the tone she used when writing lyrics in the middle of the night, hidden under the covers.
The Falling of the Masks
Meanwhile, in the silent apartment, Isaac closed his sketchbook. He felt a sudden urge to draw that character, but not with the vibrant colors of the channel. He wanted to draw her under a streetlamp, in shades of graphite.
He realized he was projecting. He was seeking humanity in a 2D model because "real" humanity, face-to-face, terrified him. The trauma of his ex-girlfriend's accusation was an invisible scar that pulled tight every time he tried to be authentic. With Lani, there was the safety of binary code.
Suddenly, a donation notification lit up the screen: "David_Grão donated 50 bits: 'Get off the PC and go to sleep, Isaac! Early batch of croissants tomorrow!'"
Isaac felt his face heat up. David. The bastard had found him online.
The Other Side of the Mirror
Sasha, noticing the heavy atmosphere she had created, forced a laugh, recovering Lani's high-pitched tone.
— Well, enough philosophical talk! Shall we hear some music? I finished this one yesterday. It's called "Glass Echo."
She picked up her bass guitar. The weight of the instrument in her lap was the only thing anchoring her to reality. When she started to play, the bass line was deep and vibrant, contrasting completely with the streamer's colorful image.
Stella watched her friend with a mix of pride and concern. She knew the VTuber persona was a bridge, but she feared it might become a wall. When the music ended, the chat was in ecstasy, but Isaac_Art had already disconnected.
Isaac closed his laptop. The silence of the apartment became heavy again, but now there was a residual melody echoing in his mind. He walked to the bathroom mirror and stared at his own reflection. The glass smile wasn't there. There was only a tired man, with light dark circles under his eyes and a sketch of hope that he was desperately trying to erase.
— Just a stream, Isaac
— he whispered to himself.
— Don't ruin this by trying to make it real.
Coffee, Tequila, and the Thirtieth-Year Crisis
Wednesday's sun beat down mercilessly on the facade of "Grão de Ouro." Inside, the aroma of roasted beans was accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a spoon clinking frantically against a porcelain cup.
— David... if I find another fingerprint on this muffin display, I swear the next "blueberry muffin" will be made with your common sense, which seems to have vanished!
The voice echoed from the back office
—firm, yet with a vibrant tone. Valentina stepped out of her room, adjusting her thick-framed glasses and smoothing a silk scarf around her neck. At thirty, she was the whirlwind that kept the coffee shop running. She wore a t-shirt from an indie rock band that she had clearly bought at a festival to "feel younger," but her posture was that of a woman who knew exactly how to manage a business.
— Relax, Val!
— David replied, giving a wink while wiping the counter with immeasurable laziness.
— It's the "rustic style." Customers like to feel the coffee is made by humans, not cleaning robots.
— Oh, really?!
— she retorted, but her gaze softened as she saw Isaac organizing the cups with surgical precision.
— Now you, Isaac... an angel. A monk. Sometimes I think you were carved out of marble to be the eternal employee of the month. Have you drunk water? Are you rested?
Isaac gave that restrained smile of his.
— I'm fine, Valentina. Business is calm for a Wednesday morning.
Valentina sighed, leaning against the counter and staring into space for a second. The glow of authority gave way to a shadow of melancholy that she tried to hide with internet slang.
— So, guys... enjoy it. Seriously. Yesterday I went back on a dating app and, I swear to God, either the guy looks like he still lives with his mother and doesn't know how to fry an egg, or he's a pervy old man. There is no middle ground for a thirty-year-old woman who still likes reading manga and staying up all night listening to true crime podcasts.
— You're becoming a mummy, Val
— David joked, receiving a light slap.
— Even looks like it you idiot! I'm in the prime of my life.
— she laughed, but the laughter soon faded.
— Sometimes I look at the side of the bed and only see my cat, Mumu, snoring. It's depressing entering your thirties like this.
Isaac stopped what he was doing. He saw right through that attempt to seem "cool." Valentina was their safe harbor, the woman who paid wages on time and who, last winter, brought soup to David when he caught a heavy flu. She looked after everyone, but who looked after her?
— You don't have to pretend to be super modern all the time, Valentina
— Isaac said in a low, gentle voice.
— You are the most mature person I know. And being thirty and single doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. It's the world that is... complicated.
Valentina looked at Isaac, her eyes glistening for a millisecond behind her lenses.
— That's why I love you, Isaac. You're an old soul in a twenty-something body. Who knows, maybe you're my prince charming, huh?
Isaac was blunt:
— No, thank you, Val. I don't want to ruin our friendship.
— Oh, how cruel!
The Wednesday Proposal
She slapped her hands on the counter, regaining her energy.
— Enough drama! Today is Wednesday, the official day for "Liquid Therapy." As soon as we close, the three of us are going to the bar next door, "Espeto & Brasa." I'm buying the first round of beer.
— I'm in!
— David jumped up, abandoning his dishcloth.
— Let's Go! Guys I need to complain about my neighbor, who shouted at me while I was playing drums in the middle of the night.
— Oh, really? What a shock!
— Valentina teased.
— Seriously, I can't imagine what would lead a neighbor to be so rude... just because I was practicing my solo at three in the morning. Such a lack of artistic sensitivity on his part, don't you think?
Isaac felt his stomach knot. The mere idea of a bar
—with people, noise, and questions about his personal life
—made him want to hide in the bean storage.
— Oh, Valentina... I have some tasks to finish and...
— No, no, no, no! — Valentina pointed her finger at him.
— No excuses, Isaac. I'm the boss, and this is a corporate well-being order. You're too pale; you need some light and a strong drink. And David, if you slack off during closing, I'm deducting it from your beer!
David began sweeping the floor with a speed he had never shown before, while Valentina headed back to her office humming a TikTok hit, trying to convince herself that thirty is the new twenty.
Isaac looked at the counter. He knew David and Valentina were the only bridges still connecting him to the real world. Despite his apprehension, he sighed and began cleaning the espresso machine. The mask would have to hold for a few more hours of socializing.
Wednesday NPCs
Wednesday was following its monotonous course, the smell of damp asphalt wafting in through the window crack. Sasha was in her cocoon: purple LED lights, giant headphones, and the mouse cursor dancing across the screen as she edited highlights from her last stream. To her, the world outside was a 480p blur, and she preferred her artificial 4K.
Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed against the wall. Stella walked in, helmet tucked under her arm, hair messy from the wind, and an expression that made it clear she wouldn't take "no" for an answer.
— Stop rendering that anime doll right now
— Stella decreed, slamming her keys onto the soundboard.
— We're going out. Now.
Sasha jumped in her chair, pulling her headphones down around her neck.
— Stella! You scared me! And go out where? It's Wednesday, I have a schedule, I have...
— You have a date with a grilled steak and a beer so cold it'll crack that gloom of yours
— Stella cut in, already throwing open Sasha's wardrobe and tossing a random jacket at her.
— We're going to "Espeto & Brasa."
Sasha's eyes widened, her anxiety spiking like a chat room in fast mode.
— The steakhouse on the corner? Stella, that place is open-air! There's smoke, there's the sound of those metal chairs scraping on the floor... what if someone from college is there? Or worse, what if someone recognizes my voice?
Stella let out a short laugh and rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of the desk.
— Sasha, get your feet on the ground. People are too busy worrying about paying their bills to notice a shy streamer in a hoodie. No one is going to ask for your autograph, I promise.
— But it's so... exposed
— Sasha whispered, looking at the monitor as if it were her shield.
— It's a sidewalk steakhouse, Sasha. It's the most democratic place in the world. No one cares about anyone. I need a bit of real-life noise, and you need protein that doesn't come from a cup of instant noodles
— Stella softened her voice, crossing her arms. — Wednesday is "limbo" day. It's not the beginning, and it's not the weekend. It's the perfect day to be just another person eating a meat skewer with farofa.
Sasha looked at her friend. Behind the leather jacket, Stella looked exhausted, carrying the weight of someone who had hauled the world around all day.
— Farofa?
— Sasha asked softly, giving ground.
— The really yellow kind, with plenty of butter
— Stella smiled, sensing victory.
— Let's go. I'm driving. You just need to sit there, stare into space, and pretend you're an NPC in a life-sim game.
Sasha let out a long sigh, turning off her monitors one by one. The room suddenly went dark, leaving only the light from the hallway.
— If the skewer comes back burnt, I'm walking home
— Sasha grumbled, standing up and feeling the pit in her stomach she always felt when crossing her front door.
— If it comes back burnt, I'll make the grill apologize on national television.
— Stella joked, nudging her friend out of the room.
— Now move it, the smell of charcoal is already calling my name.