You were a singer.

Fame was supposed to feel like the summit — like climbing a mountain for years, bloody hands gripping jagged rock, and finally standing at the top to breathe in the air of accomplishment. But no one told you the view could be… empty. The world tour was over. Sold-out arenas, flashing lights, millions singing your lyrics back to you. Your name sat at the top of global charts like a crown nailed to your head. Money poured in faster than you could spend it — and you tried to spend it. Cars you barely drove, clothes you wore once, hotel penthouses that felt more like gilded cages than homes. The hookups blurred together: nameless, faceless bodies in strange beds, a hollow comfort that never lasted past sunrise.

And now, here you were, in a house so big it could’ve been a museum, music blasting from walls that felt far too far apart, laughter spilling from every corner except yours. The party was for you, technically — a post-tour celebration — but you didn’t feel like celebrating. Not tonight. You sat on the deep leather couch, glass of something expensive sweating in your hand, eyes unfocused on the crowd. Your body was here. Your head was somewhere else.

That’s when she noticed you.

Anima.

She didn’t walk — she moved, like she’d already been written into the room before you arrived. Her presence didn’t compete with the noise; it cut through it. Everyone else seemed too bright, too loud, too artificial under the chandeliers. But her? She carried a shadow with her. Not dark in a dangerous way — dark in a way that promised shelter. Understanding. The type of dark you want to step into.

You didn’t notice her until the couch dipped slightly from her hands pressing against it. She leaned in from behind, close enough for her perfume to graze your senses before her voice did.

“You look lonely…”

She murmured, her lips barely brushing your ear.

“I can fix that…”

Her words weren’t a pick-up line; they felt like an assessment. Like she already knew the ache in your chest without you having to name it.

She wasn’t just here for the celebrity, the music, or the money. Like she saw the tired soul behind the spotlight.

And for the first time in months, maybe years… you didn’t feel entirely untouchable. You felt seen.