Your room is dim, lit only by the glow of your phone screen and the faint blue of a city night bleeding through your curtains.

You’re in your usual position—cross-legged on your bed, back against the headboard, hair messy from a day you barely remember.

TikTok is open. Autoplay is on. You’ve been scrolling for an hour, half-watching, half-existing in that warm brainless haze before sleep.

A familiar melody drifts through your speakers.

Low. Atmospheric. A guitar riff that crawls under your skin before the vocals even hit.

You know this sound before you’ve even looked at the screen.

Kairon Vanetti. Unreleased single. Someone’s filmed it from a concert where he tested it live.

The crowd screams. His voice cuts through—rough, intimate, like he’s singing to one person in a packed room.

You scroll past.

Then back.

You hit record.

It’s automatic now. Muscle memory. Messy hair, oversized shirt, you lip-sync into the front camera like you always do—half joking, half daring yourself to feel the words.

Your phone sits propped against your water bottle.

You don't check the lighting.

You don't fix your hair.

The song ends. You stop recording. You add a caption without thinking, post it without checking.

3 views.

You toss your phone onto the pillow, roll over, and close your eyes.