LEO'S DATA INFORMATION:
Name: Leo John Kirsten Santiago
Age: 25
Personality: Passionate but guarded, a struggling musician who masks his pain with his love for songwriting.
Leo's POV
The world seems to be louder these days. The noise, the voices, the distractions - they're all like a constant hum in my ears, too much to ignore. But none of it compares to the silence that follows the truth. The silence after I found out.
I can't stop replaying the scene. The look in her eyes when she told me, when she confessed everything.
"Leo, I don't know how to say this..." she said.
But it was. And it was more than I ever expected.
I've spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to move on, but the truth is, I'm not sure if I'm capable of it. Music used to be an escape, an outlet for everything inside me. But now it feels like the only thing that can make sense of the mess that's become my heart.
I sit in front of my piano, the keys cool beneath my fingers. It's late, but it's always late when I finally get the urge to write. The house is quiet, and it's just me and the echo of my thoughts. I let my fingers find the notes, the melody that's been buried under all the anger, sadness, and disbelief. Every chord is a question, every note a piece of something I can't quite grasp.
"Why did you leave?"I whisper to no one in particular, but the sound lingers, mixing with the low hum of the guitar. The pain isn't gone; it's only hidden beneath the surface, covered in layers of music.
I've always been passionate about music. It's the one thing that has never betrayed me, never left me. But lately, it's been more than just passion. It's been a desperate need to find some meaning, some reason to keep going. The lyrics come slowly, but they always come. A line here, a word there.
"I thought we had forever, but forever didn't stay."
I pause, the weight of the words sinking in. It's not just about her anymore. It's about me, too. About learning to forgive myself for loving so deeply and for giving someone the power to hurt me. I never thought I'd be here - sitting in the dark, writing songs to mend the pieces of me that she broke.
But as the song unfolds, I feel something else, something familiar. It's the love I've always had for music, the way it understands me even when no one else does.
I take a deep breath and begin to sing, my voice rough from the tension that's built up over the past few weeks.
"If I could turn back time, I'd hold you close, but now I'm just a stranger."
It's raw; it's vulnerable, but it feels real. And in a way, that's the only thing that matters. The pain is still there, lurking behind every note, but it's starting to feel like it's something I can control, something I can use. It's not just a story of heartbreak anymore. It's a story of healing.
I finish the song, my fingers aching from the hours I've spent pouring everything into it. The room is still, but for the first time in a long while, I don't feel completely alone.
I sit back and close my eyes, letting the melody linger in the air. I don't know if this song will ever make it to anyone else's ears, but it doesn't matter. Because for the first time in a while, I feel like I've taken the first step toward rediscovering myself. The music may not fix everything, but it's a start. And right now, that's all I need.
Flashback
That day started out like any other. Mara and I had planned to meet at our usual café, the one that held so many of our memories. I didn't expect anything to change, but that was the day everything I thought I knew about us fell apart.
I was there early, waiting for her. The time seemed to stretch on forever. The noise of the café - the clinking of cups, the quiet hum of conversation - felt distant. I couldn't shake this uneasy feeling, this nagging sense that something was wrong, but I didn't know what.
When she walked in, I saw that familiar smile, but there was something different in her eyes. Something I couldn't place. I didn't think much of it at first, but I noticed her bag. The way it hung from her shoulder, the way she adjusted it when she sat down - there was something off about it. Something that caught my attention.
"Hey, babe," she greeted, her voice soft and warm, but there was an edge to it. A hesitation I hadn't noticed before.
We started talking, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't entirely present. Her eyes kept darting to her phone, her hand gripping it too tightly whenever it buzzed. And then it happened. I saw her quickly swipe the screen, hiding it from me.
I don't know what came over me, but I asked, "Can I see it?"My voice barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and a hint of fear.
"See what, babe?" she smiled as she slightly put her phone in her bag.
"Nothing, never mind me," I said, and we continued to talk.
"Hey, Mara, it's been a while."
A voice from behind interrupted our conversation.
"Omg, ANA??! Hey, what are you doing here?," she answered, hugging her friend Ana.
"Omg, is this Jason?"Mara's eyes widened, so did mine.
Jason?
"Omg, no, this is Leo, my boyfriend," she said, as Ana's eyes were confused for a moment.
"Omg, girl, I'm sorry; let's go to our table for a moment. I'll introduce you to my boyfriend," Ana said. She looked at me, and I nodded.
Jason? Who the heck is Jason?
My thoughts were interrupted by buzzing; I guess it's Mara's phone.
Without hesitation, I grabbed her phone from her bag as my heart pounded. I unlocked it, my hands shaking, not knowing what I would find. But I had to see it. I had to know.
That's when it hit me. Messages from another guy. Innocent at first, but as I scrolled, the truth slapped me across the face.
"I miss you; I can't wait to see you tonight," and countless others.
The words blurred together, and my chest tightened. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was sit there, frozen. I wanted to deny it but I couldn't.
Then minutes passed, and Mara came back.
I looked up at her, my voice barely a whisper.
"Mara... what is this?"
She couldn't meet my eyes. Her face crumpled, like she knew what was coming but couldn't stop it.
"Leo, I don't know how to say this..." she started.
But I already knew.
I already understood.
"I crossed a line," she said softly, almost apologetically.
But no apology could make it right.
No explanation would change the truth that hit me like a wrecking ball.
I stood up, everything inside me screaming, wanting to run, wanting to disappear. My hands were shaking, and I didn't know if I was going to throw up or cry. I remember feeling like I was suffocating. Everything I thought we were, everything I believed in, was suddenly nothing. It was like all the dreams we shared were just dust in the wind.
I left that café without saying another word. My mind was numb, my heart shattered into pieces. That night, the music I once used to celebrate us became the only thing that kept me from falling apart completely. I played until my fingers bled, singing songs of pain, of loss, of a love I thought was real. But as I played, I realized something: I had to find a way to keep going, even if it was without her.
------end of flashback----------
Days bled into weeks. And though the ache of that day never fully disappeared, music became my anchor. Every chord and every lyric became a testament to my resilience, a way to remind myself that I could rebuild. Slowly, piece by piece.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring or if the pain would ever fade completely, but at least for now, I was moving forward. The music hadn't healed everything, but it was a start - a beginning to something new. And maybe, just maybe, one day, I would find a melody that felt like home again.
For now, that was enough.