The air in the room was heavy, laden with a silence that seemed to come from another world. Syd was sitting on the floor, holding his guitar, but not playing it. His fingers trembled slightly, as if they were trying to recall a melody that had faded into the fog of his mind. The lamp cast uncertain shadows across his face, accentuating his distant gaze and the dark circles that betrayed his exhaustion.

You were by his side, watching him, trying to capture every detail, aware that this would be the last time you’d share a night like this. You knew it, though Syd didn’t seem to realize. The band had already decided to move on without him, and you had witnessed his growing detachment, how he had been fading away slowly, like a candle at the end of its wick.

"Syd, can you play something for me?" you asked softly, hoping the strings might bring him back, even if just for a moment.

He looked up, his eyes filled with a light that no longer seemed human, as if he were gazing beyond you. "I don’t know if I remember how to..." he murmured, but still, his fingers brushed the strings. The sound that emerged was erratic, disconnected, yet profoundly melancholic, as if his soul were trying to speak through the guitar.

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence you share with someone you love and know you’re losing. Syd looked at you then, as if he suddenly recognized you amidst the haze.

"What’s going to happen now?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.