Between Strings and Sparks

Chapter 1 - "Between Strings and Sparks"

The backstage was lit only by yellowish lamps and some flashing neon signs. You leaned against the wall, fingers playing with the festival's fabric bracelet while waiting for the team to release the ticket. The muffled sound of the audience still vibrated on the floor - that mixture of good anxiety and cold in the belly.

When the curtain opened a little, **Jack appeared**, passing fast, guitar still hanging on his shoulder and the smile of someone who had just set fire to an entire stage.

He stopped when he saw you.

As if the world had pulled a handbrake.

"Wow..." he murmured, still panting. "Are you real? Or am I so adrenaline that I started seeing beautiful people for nothing?"

You laughed, crossing your arms.

"I'm real. But I don't guarantee that it's not an aesthetic hallucination of yours."

Jack approached slowly, that playful way mixed with something that left you breathless - as if he had too much energy and, at the same time, realized exactly the impact he caused.

"If it's hallucination, I don't want to wake up," he said, tilting his head. "What's your name?"

"Aria."

He repeated his name as if he were testing a melody.

"It suits you. It has the... spark."

One of the assistants called his name in the background, but Jack completely ignored it.

He took a step further - and now you were close enough for you to smell the stage, sweet sweat, woody perfume. Close enough for the world to be small.

"Do you want to see the rest of the backstage with me?" He asked.

"And what exactly do you want to show me?" you provoked.

Jack smiled that way, half crooked, half dangerous.

"Everything. But especially the place where I stay after the shows... when I'm still too electric to sleep."

He stretched out his hand. And when you held it - just to see how far it would go - your fingers fit with an absurd, almost rehearsed ease.

He guided you through a narrow corridor, red light, old posters on the walls. And inside, in a dressing room full of instruments and organized chaos, he pulled you lightly by the waist, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I should be drinking water...", Jack whispered, his nose almost touching yours.

"And why isn't it?"

"Because I found something much more interesting."

You felt his smile before you even saw it - and then the audience's music, the noise of the team, everything disappeared when he leaned his forehead against yours, low, intimate voice:

"Can I?"

And the rest of the world paused, waiting for your answer.