Starbirth

~~~✨~~~

A touch here, another there, and my hair fell softly over my shoulders. I ran my fingers through it, making sure it looked effortless but not messy. I glanced at the mirror and adjusted the collar of my sweater with a faint smile. It was still the same as always—big and slightly worn—but now, it felt like something more.

It made me feel good.

I took a step back, evaluating the outfit. Comfortable yet flattering pants, spotless sneakers, hair neatly styled without overdoing it. It wasn’t anything flashy, but it also wasn’t the usual careless Aurora. I had chosen with intention.

Intention for what?

I let out a quiet laugh and turned around, grabbing my phone from the nightstand.

I checked the time: exactly three o’clock. Just an hour before I was supposed to meet Lucio in Umeda, after lunch, for our first live performance.

Thirty-five minutes. That’s how long I had taken.

Wasn’t it thirty last time?

My pulse quickened with anticipation. I took a deep breath and let out a slow sigh.

For the first time in a long while, I wanted to be seen.

I walked out of the room with my head held high, closing the door behind me.

~~~🗾~~~

The air had a hint of humidity, typical of Osaka in summer, but it was cool enough that my sweater didn’t feel stifling. I walked with purpose, following Lucio’s directions on my phone. We had exchanged numbers in the past few days for rehearsal purposes—something that had seemed trivial at the time, but now, as I scrolled through our messages, felt much more real.

Two blocks from the station, I reached the corner he had chosen. It was a strategic spot—right at the exit of Umeda Station, where trains arrived and departed constantly, releasing an endless flow of people crossing the intersection.

Lucio was already there, leaning against a railing with his guitar slung over his shoulder, checking something on his phone. He looked at ease, as if standing on a random street, about to perform, was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, you made it right on time,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“I don’t usually run late,” I replied, though my hands were ice-cold with nerves.

“I’ve noticed that these past few days,” he teased. “Though, to be honest, we still have to wait a bit.”

“Wait?”

Lucio gestured toward one of the avenues bordering our corner.

“This is one of Umeda’s busiest intersections. Right now, we’re surrounded by office buildings, and from now until late evening, a lot of people will be walking through here to catch their trains. The plan is to play mini-concerts in between train arrivals. Each time a train pulls in, we play. When the crowd disperses, we wait for the next one. That way, maybe we can bring them a little joy.”

My throat tightened at the word concerts, but I nodded. It made sense, even if it didn’t stop the nervous pit in my stomach from forming.

We positioned ourselves in a spot where we weren’t blocking foot traffic but could still be seen and heard. Lucio took his guitar out of its case and adjusted a couple of strings while I stood motionless, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders.

And then, I saw it.

The crowd appeared all at once, like a tide. Men and women in dark suits, students with heavy backpacks, people with lifeless expressions walking hurriedly but without enthusiasm.

My pulse sped up.

Has Osaka always felt this depressing?

I knew the answer perfectly well. This wasn’t just a procession of businessmen, office workers, and salarymen. It was a funeral march, clad in suits and briefcases, a reflection of the impending death of the planet.

Lucio started strumming the first chords, and I immediately snapped out of my trance.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded and tried to focus. The moment had arrived. It was time to introduce Ashes & Stardust to the world.

Come on. It’s just a song.

The tide was reaching us. It was time.

“One, two, three...”

Lucio began with the intro chords leading into my vocals. I noticed a few people glancing in our direction from a distance.

Come on, Aurora. Come on!

“Midnight hum, city lights grow dim...

But as soon as I opened my mouth, my voice came out shaky, weak. I tried to correct it immediately.

“Shadows dance where we used to dream.”

My ears picked up on it. I could tell Lucio noticed too, trying to play with more strength to compensate.

“Your voice lingers like a distant hymn, on repeat, Fading echoes on a silent stream.”

I panicked, unsure of what was happening. I tried to increase my volume for the pre-chorus, but I couldn’t fix my tone.

“I reach for the stars once again, but they slip through my hands, Like the ashes we were, like the dust in the sand of time.”

I wasn’t pulling it off. And now came the chorus. I forgot to say So tell me, the line that was supposed to lead into the explosion of the song, only realizing it when the chorus had already begun—just as the tide of people grew denser.

“Will you remember? When the night forgets our names? Will our miracleeeeeee and all the stars still light the way?”

Finishing this phrase, I turned my attention outward and realized my off-key singing wasn’t our biggest problem.

No one cared about our music.

Nobody stopped to look. Nobody paused. Nobody said a word.

It was as if our sound simply drifted into the air and vanished.

“Wishing that time would go back, one more time, before falling apart. So we can stay on the ground, push forward, and hold on to us tight. Oh, hold on tight.”

Every word Lucio had written hit me hard, making me wonder why he had chosen them and whether they had anything to do with the photo I had found the day before.

But the crowd didn’t care. They ignored us completely.

The first chorus ended, and without warning, the wave of people was gone. The first round had been a failure, and Lucio stopped playing.

“Well, that didn’t go as expected,” he murmured, scratching the back of his head. He didn’t sound angry, just a little disappointed.

I couldn’t say anything. I stared at the ground, feeling the weight of his guitar go silent beside me. He must have seen something in my eyes because he quickly added:

“We can do better. Let’s try again when the next train arrives.”

“Yeah,” I tried to encourage him. “Next time will be better.”

And so we did.

Second time. Same result.

Third time. Nothing changed.

Fourth time. No reaction.

No one stopped, let alone clapped. Few even made eye contact with us.

And to make matters worse, my pitch was all over the place. I couldn’t hit a single note, and when the choruses arrived, my voice barely came out. I had never imagined it would be this hard.

I inhaled and exhaled.

“Come on, Lucio. Fifth time’s the charm.”

“Wait, wait,” he said in a softer tone than I expected. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“What’s going on with you, Aurora? You sang perfectly fine during rehearsals.”

My throat was dry, and another knot of nerves formed after his words.

“I-I don’t know...” I looked down, my stomach twisting. “I’ve never sung in public. I didn’t think it would be this...”

Lucio watched me for a moment, then smirked.

“You never have?”

“Never.”

“So I was right about the ‘shower singer’ thing.”

I glanced at the crowd passing us by, feeling embarrassed even though I knew he was right.

“It’s embarrassing...” I admitted in a whisper.

Lucio rested a hand on his guitar, eyeing me curiously.

“Then why did you sing so well in front of me?”

Because...

Huh?

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. Back in school, I had felt this overwhelming urge to sing in front of Lucio, my voice carrying so much emotion and feeling. But why? I didn’t even know him that well.

Why?

Lucio smiled knowingly, letting the moment pass.

"Then sing something that makes you feel comfortable. I’ll follow your lead."

"Huh? Like what?"

"Hey, that’s for you to know," he nudged me, encouraging me to think. "Something you enjoy singing or listening to, something you know well. I’ll improvise on the guitar while you sing."

His offer was tempting—sweet, even. He genuinely wanted to help me overcome my stage fright. But I couldn’t think of anything to sing...

Or maybe I could.

I pressed my earring once again. By now, Lucio must have wondered plenty of times why I kept doing that.

"Are you really sure you can keep up with me?"

Lucio nodded. I looked toward the street. In the distance, the new black tide appeared.

It was time to sing it. One more time.