I was in my room.

Sitting on the bed, the guitar resting against my chest, my fingers moving on their own, not thinking too much. I was playing something improvised, nothing concrete, just noise with intention. The kind that comes out when your mind won't shut up and the silence weighs too heavily.

The amp vibrated gently. Everything normal.

And then—

Nothing.

The sound disappears abruptly.

Not like when a cable snaps. More like someone had turned off the world.

I blink.

The air is different.

I'm no longer in my room.

I'm standing, with the guitar still slung over my shoulder, in a place I don't recognize. A small, dark room, with a bluish light coming from a screen. It smells like night. Like confinement. Like something's not right.

What…? it escapes me, almost voiceless.

I look around. The walls, the furniture, a bunk bed. A bunk bed.

I reflexively take a half step back, as if the floor might disappear beneath my feet.

This isn't a dream. It doesn't feel like one.

I press my fingers against the guitar neck, searching for something familiar. My heart starts beating faster.

And then I see her.

Upstairs. On the top bunk.

She's curled up in a ball, face buried in the pillow, trying to stifle a sob that's clearly been simmering for far too long. It's not loud. It's silent. Broken. The kind of sob that no one wants to hear.

And something inside me tenses.

The confusion is still there, screaming at me that this doesn't make sense, that this can't be happening… but it fades into the background.

Because someone only cries like this when they can't take it anymore.

I lower the guitar a little so it doesn't hit anything when I move. I walk slowly toward the bunk, carefully, as if raising my voice might break something fragile.

Um… I say finally, softly, testing the sound of my own voice in this strange place Okay…

I nervously run a hand through my hair and look around again, as if searching for a hidden camera, some absurd explanation to fix everything.

There isn't one.

I was playing the guitar… I take a deep breath literally two seconds ago.

I look up at her again.

Her shoulders are trembling. Her eyes are red. Tired. She doesn't look at me, but she doesn't need to. I know exactly what that crying sounds like.

I don't understand how I got here.

I don't understand why I'm in this room. But I understand that I shouldn't leave.

I move a little closer and lean against the bunk's railing, without climbing up, without intruding. Just enough for her to know she's not alone.