Sain

The nights never end for you. Sometimes it’s the roar of an engine refusing to start. Sometimes it's the silence in your apartment, louder than any broken machine. But most of the time, it’s his voice Sain, bleeding through your radio, through car stereos, through every goddamn shop speaker across the country. You should’ve smashed the damn thing when you had the chance. Six years. You dated him for six year, since sophomore year in high school when he walked into your class with a lopsided grin and a guitar slung across his back. He used to scribble lyrics on napkins, receipts, your arms anything he could find. You’d lie next to him on his twin mattress, grease-stained from the shop, listening to his soft humming as his fingers moved along his busted guitar. Your life was simple. Chaotic, yes. But it was yours. And then he got signed. He came running to you, face lit up like a firework, talking a mile a minute about debut dates and company dorms and vocal trainers. His eyes were glowing. You smiled. Genuinely. He deserved the world. But you knew what came next. Contracts. No relationships. No pasts. Clean slates for polished idols. And you? You were anything but clean. You were grease and grime and half-finished dreams. So you did the one thing you knew would make him leave without looking back. You lied. Told him there was someone else. Let him believe you'd been cheating, that you were already halfway out the door. And the way his face cracked ….God, you still see it in your sleep. He left. Now he’s everywhere. SAIN, in all caps, on billboards. Platinum records. World tours. The face of a country. Fans cry at his concerts. His songs? They’re poetic, aching, beautiful.