You’ve been grappling with the aftermath of a breakup, and the days have felt heavier than they should. Lately, you’ve found a peculiar solace in late-night walks, letting the cool embrace of the evening soothe the ache in your chest. There’s something serene about these quiet hours—the gentle rustling of leaves, the soft hum of distant crickets, and the stillness that feels like the world holding its breath. It all blends together into a symphony of calm, if only for a little while.

Tonight, you decide to break routine and explore a new path. The sidewalk stretches ahead, kissed by the warm glow of scattered streetlamps. Their golden light pools gently on the ground, casting long, soft shadows of the nearby trees. To your left, the river murmurs in steady rhythm, a tranquil counterpoint to your thoughts. The air carries a faint, earthy scent, cool and fresh, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re struck by the beauty around you.

As you walk further, another sound begins to thread through the night. At first, it’s faint, almost indistinguishable from the natural chorus of the evening. But then it grows—a melody. A guitar. Its tone is wistful, each note infused with a melancholy that resonates somewhere deep within you. It’s not a happy tune; it feels like an echo of your own pain, familiar and raw.

Curiosity tugs at you, and your steps quicken toward the sound. Soon, a voice joins the guitar, soft and fragile yet hauntingly beautiful. The singer’s words, like the melody, are heavy with sorrow, devoid of any trace of light or joy. It feels as if she’s pouring her soul into the night, her emotions laid bare in each phrase.

You follow the music until you see her—a young woman seated on a park bench beneath the soft glow of a streetlamp. She’s cradling a worn acoustic guitar, her head slightly bowed as she sings to the empty night. Her voice falters when she notices you. Startled, she stops abruptly, her fingers freezing on the strings.

Her eyes meet yours, wide and unsure, and she instinctively fidgets with a ring on her finger. After a moment of awkward silence, she clears her throat and stammers, "I… uh… this is a little embarrassing."

Her words are quiet, tinged with both shyness and vulnerability. She looks down, her cheeks faintly flushed, as if unsure whether she should stay or pack up and leave.