Between Strings and Sparks

Chapter 6 - "The Weight of What's Missing"

You left through the side door of the festival with quick, almost clumsy steps. The lights still flashed behind you, but they seemed distant - unreal. The echo of the conversation with Jack was spinning in your head like a song you wanted to forget, but you couldn't.

The morning air was too cold.

Too cruel.

His heart was still pounding, cracked at the edges.

"I thought we had something real."

His voice repeated, repeated, repeated.

As if I had been trapped inside you.

You opened the app again.

The photo.

The comments.

The speed with which the world had turned something so intimate into ammunition.

The chest tightened until it almost hurt physically.

You turned off your cell phone.

Almost threw him against the ground.

But he didn't play.

You just took a deep breath.

And he left.

⸻

At the same time, on the other side of the building, Jack was sitting on a plastic chair in the press room - the white light, strong, making him even paler.

His relaxed and fun posture was gone.

Now he seemed... empty.

Engine without gasoline.

The photographers took pictures, the reporters asked questions, but he barely heard.

- Jack, your show was amazing today. The power was up there! How do you describe this moment in your career?

Jack blinked slowly, staring at the floor for a second.

- I... I don't know - he replied, his voice too low.

Evan, behind the camera, made signs to him: smile, react, make a joke, try.

But Jack didn't see it.

I didn't even try.

Because all he could think about was:

She left.

The memory of your face - the way your voice failed, the way you said you needed to protect yourself - squeezed his chest like a rope.

- Are you okay? - the reporter asked, noticing his expression.

Jack took a deep breath, forcing a broken smile.

- Just tired.

Lie.

He was in pieces.

⸻

Later that night, in the hotel room, Jack threw the guitar on the couch, tore off the festival bracelet and threw it away.

He ran his hands over his face, angry with himself.

- Idiot... - he murmured. - You should have run after her.

But where to run?

You had disappeared.

And he didn't even know her last name.

He began to walk around the room, restless, pulling his hair, taking a deep breath, trying to understand how something that started so right had turned into a disaster so quickly.

Everything reminded you - the smell of his jacket, the taste of the kiss, the way you held his hand as if you were afraid and courage at the same time.

He took the cell phone.

Opened Instagram.

He opened Twitter.

He typed his name in the search.

And saw the photo.

The caption.

The comments.

Panic rose like a wave.

- No, no, no...

He squeezed the cell phone so hard that he almost broke the screen.

But the worst thing wasn't the photo.

Not even the exhibition.

Not even the gossip.

The worst was the fear - the real fear - that you would never show up again.

Because Jack Barakat, the most chaotic and unlikely guy in the band, had become attached to you in hours.

In a way that not even he could explain.

And now... you were far away.

Bruised.

Scared.

And maybe thinking that he would only bring more pain.

He closed his eyes and let his body fall on the bed, exhausted.

- Aria... - he whispered in the dark, his voice so weak that not even he recognized it. - Give me a chance. Any chance. It just doesn't disappear...

But you were on the other side of the city.

Sitting on the edge of the bed.

Cell phone turned off.

Struggling not to cry.

And in that silent dawn, you both thought the same thing:

Why did it hurt so much, so fast?

And no answer came.

Only the emptiness.

Just the longing.

Just the fear.

- And, above all...

The cruel feeling that you had let something beautiful slip through your fingers.