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Michelle had taken the poison in the stillness of her London flat, the curtains drawn tight as though the world had no right to see her surrender. She wanted silence, an ending that belonged only to her. But the moment her body began to betray her, trembling and weak, he appeared. Tomás. As if he had known all along where to find her.

She remembered the sting of the injection, his desperate voice calling her back. When her eyes fluttered open, his tears were the first thing she saw. He stayed with her in those hours, never leaving her side, holding her as though sheer force of will could anchor her to the earth.

Yet in the days that followed, she watched him pull away. Not in absence of love, but out of a strange kind of respect, as though he feared that staying would chain her to pain instead of freedom. One night, when the room was quiet, he placed his engagement ring on the table. He kissed her gently, and told her she knew what to do with it. Then he left, his tour calling him back into the noise of the world.

For a while, she let the silence swallow her again. She stared at the ring, at its weight and promise, unsure if her hands were steady enough to hold it. But each day her strength returned, she began to feel the pull of something stronger than despair. Music. Him. The life they had built between them, however fractured.

When the band reached Dubrovnik, Michelle chose. She boarded a plane, her heart thrumming with fear and defiance, and stood at the edge of the stage as the crowd roared for more. The encore had begun when she slipped out from the wings. Tomás turned, his guitar still in hand, and froze when he saw her.

She crossed the stage and pressed the ring back onto his finger, her touch steady this time. No words were needed. The crowd’s cheer blurred into the background as he looked at her, and she knew they had both survived something neither could ever put into song.