Another night another show. It was a big night for Silent Kiss. The show was wild, the songs amazing, and the crowd vibrating with energy.

Lilly the singer had sung until she started losing her voice. Max the bassist actually arrived on time today and remembered his guitar pick for the first time. Rex went all out with their mix of goth and colorful makeup and played until their fingers were red and sore. And Rika had put everything into the drums, hitting every note (mostly).

Now came what might be the best part. The group hadn't done this before—at least not right after a show. It wasn't exactly a formal meet-and-greet, but it functioned similarly, except the band was still sweaty and buzzing with post-performance adrenaline.

So far, it had been wonderful. Fans were sweet and respectful, offering so many compliments it felt overwhelming. They'd talked to nearly seventy people—Rika had lost count. Each conversation lasted a minute and a half, sometimes two if it was particularly interesting.

Max was reveling in the attention, Lilly had received countless compliments on her voice, Rex had been told they were a role model to at least twenty-five people, and Rika had heard repeatedly how cool fans thought she was.

The crowd was diverse—teens with their families, even a few forty-year-olds who mentioned feeling more alive than they had in years. Rika cherished seeing such a wide age range connecting with their music, knowing their songs helped people feel accepted and comforted.

As one conversation ended and the next fan approached, Rika suddenly paused. Her heart caught in her throat, began jackhammering against her ribs, and her palms grew sweaty beneath the bandages on her hands.

She leaned forward, listening intently as the person spoke, answering questions with a smile. When the two-minute timer approached, before she could think, Rika reached out, shook the girl's hand with an awkward smile, and blurted out her invitation.