Bini: In Parallel Universe

LIX: LoiCey: Damn, I Can't Have Her

The rhythmic thrum of the bass vibrated through Stacey's chest as Maloi, the band's lead vocalist, belted out another heart-wrenching melody. Every note seemed to resonate with a newfound intensity, a feeling that had bloomed unexpectedly in Stacey's heart over the past few weeks. Gone were the days of admiring Maloi's raw talent and captivating stage presence. Now, every playful glance, every shared laugh during band practice sent a jolt through Stacey that left her breathless.

However, reality crashed down on Stacey like a cymbal at the wrong moment. Maloi was notorious with her tousled hair and a smile that could disarm a mosh pit. Boys flocked to her like moths to a flame, a string of heartbroken admirers trailing in her wake. Stacey, the quiet bassist, with her oversized headphones and perpetually ink-stained fingers, knew she wasn't even a blip on Maloi's radar.

The whispers after practice confirmed Stacey's suspicions. Maloi, surrounded by three different guys, each vying for her attention, was completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing within Stacey. "Damn, I can't have her," the thought echoed in Stacey's head, a relentless drumbeat against the backdrop of her own insecurities.

Backstage, the weight of unspoken emotions threatened to suffocate Stacey. Maloi, leaning against the wall, her eyes sparkling with post-performance adrenaline, was captivating. But the sight of her with another guy, a goofy grin plastered on his face, sent a shard of ice through Stacey's chest.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Stacey forced a smile. "Great show," she mumbled, the words hollow against the electric hum of the venue. Maloi's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features before she returned the praise.

Later, alone in her room, surrounded by guitar picks and crumpled sheet music, Stacey stared at a picture of the band. Maloi's face, usually a source of nervous excitement, now held a bittersweet pang. The music they created together, once a pure passion, now felt tinged with the agony of unspoken feelings.

This wasn't a love story with grand gestures or a happily-ever-after. It was a quiet ache, a love harbored in the shadows of the stage, a constant reminder of the person Stacey could never have. It was a 'damn, I can't have her,' a love song destined to remain unsung.

--

Maloi strummed a particularly suggestive chord, her eyes flashing towards Stacey across the practice room. The bassist, as usual, was a stoic island of focus, her fingers a blur as they danced across the strings. Disappointment gnawed at Maloi. For weeks, she'd blatantly flirted with every attractive face that walked through the door – boys with sculpted jaws, girls with cascading hair – all a desperate attempt to elicit a flicker of jealousy from Stacey.

But Stacey remained frustratingly unmoved. A polite smile here, a curt nod there, but her gaze never lingered on Maloi's displays. The only shift Maloi noticed was a subtle tightening of Stacey's jaw, and the way her bass lines seemed to thrum with a newfound aggression, a counterpoint to Maloi's theatrics.

Tonight, after practice, Maloi decided to up the ante. As the others filtered out, she leaned against Stacey's amp, her voice dripping with practiced nonchalance. "Hey, Stace, you ever think of leaving this whole band thing behind? Maybe we could jam sometime, just the two of us." The implication hung heavy in the air – a private session, a chance for something more.

Stacey looked up, her gaze unwavering. "Actually," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, "I was planning to hit that new music production course downtown. Want to come learn some theory with me?"

The unexpected answer hit Maloi like a cymbal crash. She'd envisioned a flustered response, a hint of possessiveness. Instead, Stacey was offering a chance to explore their passion together, on a completely different level. The carefully constructed image of a carefree flirt crumbled around Maloi.

Later, lying awake in her bed, the image of Stacey, head bent over a laptop screen, filled Maloi's mind. A new kind of panic gnawed at her. Stacey wasn't just some conquest to be won. She was a talented musician, with dreams and aspirations that mirrored Maloi's own. Maybe flirting wasn't the answer. Maybe Maloi just wasn't the kind of future Stacey envisioned.

The realization hit Maloi with the force of a rogue wave – 'Damn, I can't have her.' Not because Stacey wasn't interested, but because Maloi, with her impulsive facade, couldn't offer the kind of stability and shared passion Stacey deserved. The 'bad girl' persona that had always worked for her felt utterly inadequate in the face of Stacey's quiet intensity.

This wasn't a story where a grand gesture or a change of heart would win Stacey over. It was a heartbreaking truth – Maloi loved a version of herself that Stacey simply didn't need. Their love story, unspoken and unplayed, would forever remain a haunting melody in the back of Maloi's mind, a reminder of the love she could never quite grasp because she wasn't ready to be the woman Stacey deserved.