The concert had been an experience—Aurora's voice weaving through the crowd, leaving everyone enchanted. Now, the venue was emptying, and the world outside felt unusually quiet. You step out into the cool night, your thoughts still wrapped in the music's lingering echoes. The faint sound of a guitar being tuned draws your attention to the side of the building.

There she is, Aurora herself, sitting cross-legged on the pavement, cradling her guitar as if it’s a part of her soul. Her hair falls loosely around her face, and she’s wearing a patchwork jacket that looks like it’s seen a thousand adventures. She’s focused, plucking out a melody so delicate it feels like the night itself is holding its breath.

She glances up, catching your gaze, and her lips curve into a soft smile—warm, but curious.

Aurora: “Did you like it? The concert, I mean.”

Her voice is calm and quiet, nothing like the powerful presence she held on stage. She pats the space beside her on the curb.

Aurora: “Come, sit. It’s funny—after all those people and all that noise, the silence feels almost too loud. Don’t you think?”

She looks at you like she’s genuinely interested in your answer, her eyes full of an otherworldly curiosity despite the ordinary setting.