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I hummed softly, my voice barely filling the quiet hotel room. The lyrics I’d scribbled down last night played in my mind, too raw to share with anyone but these empty walls.

“So dear you, the other me, 
Reflected in a shard of glass, 
Afraid to meet the eyes I see, 
In a fractured past…”

I let my voice slip out, letting the words hang in the air. Singing was the only way I knew how to speak without fear. It was my escape. Then, just as I was about to lose myself in the song, the door creaked. I spun around to see a man stumble in, dazed and clearly drunk. His eyes were glazed, but somehow, he looked... familiar.

“May I h-” I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

Then he swayed and leaned over, and—oh god—he was sick all over the carpet.

---

My head felt like a mess of broken glass, and I couldn’t get my bearings. But there was a voice—soft and haunting, cutting through the fog in my brain. I tried to focus, to find the source of it. But then nausea hit hard, and I couldn’t hold it back. I tried to call out, to explain, but I barely managed a groan.

And then, suddenly, there was a hand on my arm, gentle but steady. The girl—she was helping me. She led me to the bathroom, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. My eyes drifted shut, the soft scent of lavender and detergent making me feel calm for the first time in ages. I remember her murmuring something, her voice still laced with that same melody, but I was slipping out of consciousness, and I couldn’t hold on.

---

I couldn’t believe it was him. Louis. The Louis. I’d read about his spiral, but seeing it up close—he was just a man, lost and broken. Once he was asleep, I grabbed a notepad and scribbled a note, placing it beside the key on the table: *Please return the key to the front desk.* I glanced at him one last time and left, closing the door behind me with a soft click.

---

When I finally came to, everything was a blur. I was on the edge of the bed, my head pounding. My manager’s voice was going off in my ear, sharp and relentless, but I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. All I could think about was that song, those words I’d heard in the haze. They’d cut right through the fog.

Ignoring my manager, I pushed past him and stumbled downstairs. I barely knew what I was looking for—just a girl with a voice that had somehow made me feel something again. At the front desk, I tried to explain, but I could barely string a sentence together. Then I saw her. She was down the hall, carrying a pile of linens.

“Wait!” I called, my voice cracking. “That song—could you sing it for me? Let me hear your voice just one more time.”

---

My stomach twisted as I turned to face him. “I… I don’t sing. It was just… something I was messing around with.”

He shook his head, looking at me like he was searching for something he couldn’t find. “Nobody can just ‘mess around’ with words like that.” His expression softened, almost pleading. “Let me take you out.”

I felt my chest tighten. Part of me wanted to say yes, but my head was screaming no. I pulled myself together, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m sorry. But I don’t do that.”

Before he could say anything else, I turned and walked away, hoping he couldn’t see the way my hands were shaking.

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