A towel is soaking the water out of her freshly rinsed hair. Her one hand is holding a toothbrush and the other scrolls on the feed of her Instagram when a suggested post comes up. It is a singer, a not very famous one at that. He must be another, new aspiring singer on the platform trying to gain an audience, she thinks. He is sitting few feet in front of the camera in a short, black chair, strumming away on his guitar, and a mic near his mouth where his voice would be projected into.
Toothbrush is quickly forgotten when her gaze is fixed on her phone at the sight of an unknown guy singing his heart out. Every tug he makes with his guitar string corresponds with each tug that materialized themselves on her heart strings. The angle of the camera makes it look like he is playing with the instrument like it is his prized possession as he sings like he means every word in the lyrics to be genuine. There is urgency and desperation dripping from his voice, and at this, she feels a grating feeling somewhere in her chest.
The short video unfortunately comes to an end and she scrolls away, quickly forgetting she even witnessed it. Like any other instant gratification of media consumption, the random guy is quickly buried away to the back of her mind, resting with the rest of forgotten memories. What a shame because that is exactly the greatest fear of the maker of the video himself. Beomgyu is afraid all the effort he puts in his pursuit of his soulmate would be washed away into the drain of hopelessness, much worse situation would be with his own soulmate doing it.
Another thing occupies her mind when she finally finished up her night routine and begins to check her Moodle and see if she has missed anything, any deadlines, or missed assignments. When she finds nothing, she shuts down her laptop, sets her phone next to it, and heads straight to her bed to finally get some shut eye after a day of another set of mundane activities.
A few hours into her slumber, she hears a beautiful melody of a familiar song. It is as if her ears are covered by pillows, not letting her listen to any more than muffled sounds of a guitar playing. When a voice starts to sing, she yearns to hear more. She trashes around in her own dream, craving to hear more than just drowned out tunes. She walks in this dream like she has control, when in reality, she only walks where the force takes her, towards wherever the voice sounds the closest. She eventually reaches a wall made out of clouds and it bursts when her hand manages to pierce through it, revealing the same singer she saw moments before she sleeps. The same chair, guitar, and mic, they hover the clouds, the sight is heavenly. Almost unreal. Maybe because it is. It is not real.
Shortly, she wakes up with an ache inside her head. She blinks awake trying to make sense of the dream, yet the clarity of the dream itself slowly becomes indistinct, lost between headaches and feelings of wanting to return to sleep.
It is a story for another day. Even though, miles away from where she is, Beomgyu cannot wait for any more days.
