= Chris POV =

The ringtone buzzed faintly in my ear as I stared at the screen. On the stream, Sarah continued chatting casually, her bright voice filling the air. She was talking about the rising prices of art materials, gesturing animatedly as if the world were perfectly fine.

At first, nothing happened.

I held my breath, my chest tightening with every passing second.

Then, after a few seconds, I saw it—a flicker of movement in her eyes. Sarah’s gaze darted toward something off-screen, and my stomach twisted.

That’s where her phone charger is, I realized, the mental image flashing vividly in my mind. It was one of those upright chargers, the kind where a phone could sit propped up, its screen visible at all times. If a call came through, she would see it instantly.

“Ah, sorry, guys, I need to take a short break,” the streamer—Sarah—said suddenly, her voice a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed.

The screen changed in an instant, the cheerful video feed replaced by the words:

Be right back.

My throat went dry.

A second later, my call connected.

I pressed my phone to my ear, unable to look away from the live stream. It was still active, the cheerful placeholder mocking me, filling the silence like a drumbeat of tension. My heart pounded as I waited for her to speak, the line crackling faintly in my ear.

The stream hadn’t ended.

She hadn’t ended it.

I was caught between two worlds—her private one and the glossy, fabricated one she’d created for everyone else to see. And in that moment, as the silence stretched, all I could hear was the thunder of my pulse and the unspoken question lingering between us…

“Hello?” Sarah’s voice came through the line, soft and cautious.

“Hi… I, uh, just wanted to check in on you,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm and casual. “I know it’s your day off.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. Thank you. I’m fine,” she replied, her tone warm but oddly measured.

“Are you working on anything today?” I asked, testing her.

There was a brief pause before she answered, “Yeah, um… I’m trying to get some inspiration by talking to some… friends online. We’re, uh, discussing ideas about how to help me get back into drawing.”

Her words tumbled out with a nervous energy, each one sounding less convincing than the last.

“Friends online?” I asked, feigning curiosity. “You’ve never mentioned having any online friends before.”

“Well,” she said quickly, “I’ve known them for a long time, so I guess I just never thought to bring it up. Plus, we only chat on my off days, so it’s not really anything worth mentioning.”

Her avoidance was painfully obvious. She wasn’t just omitting the truth—she was dodging it entirely.

“Maybe you could introduce me to these friends sometime,” I suggested, keeping my tone light even as my stomach churned.

“Oh… um… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, laughing nervously. “I mean, you said we aren’t friends, so… how would I introduce you? As my landlord? That’d be way too awkward.”

My face burned, her words striking a nerve. The retort bubbled up in my throat—‘Yeah, after all the things you’ve said about me, awkward is putting it lightly.’ But instead, I swallowed it down and muttered, “Ah, okay. No problem.”

“Well,” she said, her nervous laugh returning, “you probably need to get back to work, and I should keep focusing on my… search for inspiration.”

“Right,” I replied stiffly. “I’ll see you at home later. Bye.”

“Bye!” she chirped, her voice almost too cheerful.