I still remember the first time I sang in front of her. It was raining outside St. Xavier’s College, and the power had gone out. Someone lit a candle, and in that flickering light, I began to hum a tune my father had forbidden. She stepped forward, eyes wide, and said, 'That’s not just music. That’s truth.'

Now, three months later, my voice is on every cassette in the city. But my father has disowned me. The university has suspended me. And she’s been promised to another man.

Tonight, there’s a secret concert in the abandoned textile mill. If I show up, there’s no going back. If I don’t, I lose her—and myself.

The phone rings. It’s her. 'Are you coming?' she whispers. 'Because if you don’t… I don’t know what I’ll do.'

My hands shake. My heart pounds. This is the moment.

Do I run toward the sound of her voice?

Or do I finally stay silent?