Echoes of Us

chapter I

"I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind all my classmates, and I ended up here. Pouring out my heart to a stranger. But I didn't pour the whiskey"

~taylor swift-this is me trying

Isla

I sit cross-legged on my bed, surrounded by a mess of notebooks, crumpled-up lyrics, and my old guitar. Call it cliché, but guitars were just one of those instruments that let you feel the music. You could sense every strum, and feel your voice blend in, in perfect harmony.

I could feel the familiar ache in my fingertips, but it was worth it. Music is the only thing that makes sense to me; the only way I know how to feel seen.

It's late, and the whole world is quiet. This was my favorite part of the day: the moment where it's just me and my surroundings-no teachers, no classmates, no judgement. Just my voice, whispering into the darkness.

My latest track, Unseen, is still warm from recording, and for the first time, I feel like I've actually captured it. What it's like to feel like you're fading into the background, even when you want so badly to stand out.

It's personal, maybe too much, but that's how it always goes. Every lyric, every strum, is me spilling pieces of myself that nobody at school would ever understand. They don't know that the girl in the back of the classroom, the one who never speaks up, has a voice.

I open my phone, my thumb hovering over the 'post' button. Part of me wants to keep this one private, locked away in a notebook where nobody else can find it. But the other part of me-the part that knows this is how I get seen-won't let that happen.

So I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and press post. It's out there now, floating somewhere on the internet where a handful of strangers might stumble upon it, and maybe, just maybe, feel a little less alone.

I set my phone down, and lean back against my pillow, exhaling a sight of relief. It's hard to explain, but every time I share a song, I feel a tiny weight lifted, like I'm letting go of something I didn't know I was holding. To the world, I'm just Isla-the quiet girl, the one who fades into the background. But here, in this little online world, I'm someone different, Someone who matters.

--

The next morning, I'm jolted awake by my alarm. I groan, squinting at the harsh light as I drag myself out of bed. Another day, another 8 hours of blending in.

On my way to the bathroom, I pass by my little brother's room. His door's cracked open, and he's sprawled out on his bed, still fast asleep, his collection of action figures splayed out all over his desk. He's eight, the kind of age where you don't believe you're too old for toys, but are still young enough to love them.

Sometimes, I envy him-how everything seems so easy to him, how he doesn't need to worry about school, or fitting in, or whether you're on top of whatever's trending.

In the kitchen, Mom's already up, pouring herself a coffee and scrolling through her phone. She looks up when I walk in, her eyes flicking over me before going back to whatever she's reading.

I know it didn't mean anything, but it hurt.

"Good morning," she says, her voice light but tired. She's always tired, always too busy to notice much, but I guess I'm used to it by now. I mumble a "morning" back, grabbing a granola bar from the counter.

Dad's sitting at the table, already halfway through a crossword puzzle. "Hey, Isla," he says, glancing up with a warm smile. "Ready for the day?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, and he chuckles, ruffling my hair as I pass by him. He's the one person in my family who seems to notice the little things, like when I'm having a rough day or need someone to talk to. But even he doesn't know about my music account. Nobody does. It's better that way.

Before I head downstairs, I check my phone. My heart skips a beat when I see the notifications. Overnight, Unseen picked up a few new followers and some likes. And... there's a comment.

"It's like you've put into words something I've been trying to say my whole life. Thank you for sharing this-it's real and powerful. Don't stop creating, you're helping people more than you know."

I stare at it, feeling a strange warmth spread through me. Usually, people just like my songs and move on. But this? This feels... different. Personal. Like there's someone on the other side who actually understands what I'm saying.

Maybe it's nothing. Just some random listener, probably from a different city or even country. But as I walk down the stairs, there's this tiny part of me that can't help but hope they'll listen to my other songs, maybe even leave another comment. It's silly, I know, but it makes me feel like I'm not invisible

--

At school, I blend into the usual morning rush. Kids are laughing, shouting, talking a million miles a minute. I keep my head down, weaving through the crowd as I make my way to my locker. Nobody notices me, but that's fine. I don't need them to. I pull out my science book, trying not to think about the fact that I'll have to face another day of pretending to care about atomic structure and chemical equations.

I walk into the classroom and slide into my usual seat at the back. Science isn't my favorite, but it's easy to tune out. My notebook is open on my desk, filled with lyrics and ideas for my next song. I start scribbling, words pouring out before the bell even rings.

Up at the front, a group of boys were laughing. And... one of them caught my attention. Caleb Morgan. One of the more-closed off popular kid. Standing there, completely oblivious to the fact that I exist. He's everything I'm not-popular, outgoing, someone who never has to worry about whether people see him. He probably doesn't even know my name.

But as I watch him laugh, part of me wonders what it would be like if he did. Not that I care. It's just... curiosity. The way he can walk through life so effortlessly, like he doesn't even have to try. It's something I'll never understand.

~~~

Caleb

The bass from my playlist thumps in my ears as I make my way down the sidewalk, each beat matching the rhythm of my steps. But even as the music pulses through my earbuds, my mind keeps drifting back to a song I heard last night.

By the time I reach the school entrance, I'm lost in thought. I spot my friends near the lockers and wave, slipping back into my usual routine. My life is basically a performance-smiling, laughing, pretending like I've got everything figured out. Most days, I don't mind. But sometimes, I hear a song like hers, and it reminds me that there's a whole part of me nobody knows about.

As I head to class, I can't shake the feeling that maybe, if I ever find out who this musician is, she might be the one person who gets it. Who gets me.. Just the title alone hits a little too close to home. I don't know who this anonymous musician is, but her song-it's raw, real, like she's putting every part of herself out there for the world to see. I've been following her account for a few weeks now, and every time she posts, it's like I'm seeing another piece of her. Whoever she is, she's got this way of putting everything into words, making me feel like I'm not alone.

I pull up her profile again, scrolling through her posts as I wait at a crosswalk. Her songs are all different, but there's this thread that runs through them-a kind of loneliness, a feeling of not quite fitting in.

It's weird, but I feel like I understand her. And I'm starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she'd understand me too.

I left a comment last night, which is something I never do. Usually, I'm just another faceless listener in the background. But with her... I don't know. I wanted her to know that her music means something. That she means something.

By the time I reach the school entrance, I'm lost in thought. I spot my friends near the lockers and wave, slipping back into my usual routine. My life is basically a performance-smiling, laughing, pretending like I've got everything figured out. Most days, I don't mind. But sometimes, I hear a song like hers, and it reminds me that there's a whole part of me nobody knows about.

As I head to class, I can't shake the feeling that maybe, if I ever find out who this musician is, she might be the one person who gets it. Who gets me.