Dear fan... you’re still here.

“Then I’ll eat tomorrow.”

The synthesizer hummed. The lyrics were simple, almost childish: If you forget me, I’ll remember twice. If you turn away, I’ll learn your shadow’s shape.

She turned to the elderly nurse. “You lost someone last week. You don’t have to smile tonight.” The nurse’s lip quivered. “How did you—?” X just squeezed her hand. “The way you held your sign. The paper was crumpled on the left side. That’s your grief side.”

But the facility folded. Creditors fled. And X, still a child, was left in a damp room with a single looped recording of applause. For three years, that was her audience.

Then she smiled—that perfect, impossible, heartbreaking smile—and kept walking.