"𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍.”
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(Inspired by TheFatRat)
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The stars were brighter tonight.
Or maybe it was just that I finally looked up long enough to notice.
The rooftop had always been my quiet place. Wind brushing my hair, city lights humming below, the world pulsing like a heart I wasn’t sure I belonged to.
Everyone else seemed to move with purpose — like they knew where their feet were meant to go. And me? I’d been standing still for so long I’d forgotten what it felt like to move.
That’s when I heard it again — the hum.
Soft at first, like the memory of a melody you can’t quite name. Then stronger. It didn’t come from the city. It came from somewhere beyond it.
I closed my eyes. And the sound wasn’t just sound anymore. It was pulling.
The first time I heard it, I thought I was losing it — a phantom song that only played when I was alone, half asleep, or halfway between dreams. But now, it was clearer. Calling my name in a voice that wasn’t a voice at all.
“Lira…”
I froze. The wind whispered, teasing strands of hair across my face.
There was no one else on the roof. Just me, the stars, and that sound.
For weeks, I’d ignored it — buried myself in routines, told myself I was imagining it. I went to work, smiled at coworkers, scrolled through endless screens at night, trying to drown it out with noise. But it never stopped. It just… waited. Patiently.
“Why me?” I whispered into the wind.
The stars shimmered back, silent.
Somewhere inside, a memory stirred — of running barefoot through fields as a child, chasing fireflies, thinking I could catch the stars if I jumped high enough. Back then, I believed in magic. In meaning. In things unseen. Somewhere between then and now, I’d stopped listening.
And yet… here it was.
The hum deepened. My chest thudded in rhythm. The air trembled. And suddenly, I wasn’t on the rooftop anymore.
I was above it.
Weightless. Airless. Floating through a world made of sound and starlight. The city was a heartbeat below, a living pulse of humanity. Around me, streaks of light spiraled like comets, each whispering fragments of words I almost understood — a language made of emotion.
“This is the start,” the echoes murmured. “Now or never.”
I wanted to ask start of what, but my voice was gone — replaced by the same melody that had haunted me. Only now, I wasn’t hearing it. I was singing it.
Every breath a note. Every heartbeat a drum.
The stars turned, slow and patient. Below them, I saw flashes — faces of people I knew, moments I’d forgotten. Choices I didn’t make. Doors I never opened.
Was this what the song wanted me to see?
Everything I could’ve been, still waiting for me to step forward?
The hum swelled. Light poured through the sky. I reached out, and for the first time, I touched it — the sound, the dream, the impossible. It burned cold against my skin, but it didn’t hurt.
“This is your call,” the echo whispered. “Answer it.”
And I fell.
But I wasn’t afraid.
When I landed, my feet were still on the rooftop. The city was still breathing below. My heart was racing, but not from fear — from life. For the first time in forever, the world looked like it was waiting.
The stars pulsed once, bright enough to paint my reflection in silver.
I smiled.
“I hear you.”
And this time, I moved.
ns216.73.216.13da2
and then Add to home screen.