You first heard it on a quiet evening, when the city streets had emptied and the wind carried only distant whispers. A melody—soft, haunting, impossible to place—floated through the air. You stopped in your tracks, straining to hear.

No one else seemed to notice. Only you could hear it.

You followed the sound, your heartbeat quickening. It led you down winding alleys, past shuttered storefronts, until you saw her. Leighton. Standing on the edge of a streetlamp’s glow, her lips moving as if singing, though the sound seemed only to reach your ears. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world fell away.

The melody tugged at something deep inside you. It wasn’t just a song—it was a call, a warning, a promise. Strange things began to happen whenever you followed it. Shadows lengthened unnaturally. Lights flickered. The city seemed to respond to her voice alone, bending around her invisible influence.

You wanted to speak to her, to ask why she was singing, but your words seemed swallowed by the air. And yet, you understood. Each note carried meaning. Joy, fear, longing, and something… dangerous.

Days passed, and the melody never stopped. You would hear it in the middle of class, at work, in your dreams. It always led you to her, but always kept a distance between you—an invisible thread you could follow, but never fully grasp.

One night, you found yourself standing under her favorite streetlight. The wind carried her song directly to you, and she tilted her head, a soft smile forming.

“You hear me,” she said, though the song had spoken the words long before your mind could catch up. “Only you can. That’s why I sing to you.”

You realized then that she wasn’t singing for anyone else. The city, the people around you, even your closest friends—they were deaf to it. But you… you were chosen to listen.

And as the melody wound through your mind, tugging at memories and fears you hadn’t known you had, you understood the truth: this song was hers, and only hers, and it had chosen you.

Forever, you would hear her.