Actor in Hollywood

Anson made his entrance.

The cello was already crowded, with three people playing a single instrument, but no one expected a fourth person to join in. That elegant and carefree figure easily captured everyone's attention. The stunned faces in the crowd were unable to close their mouths as they watched Anson's addition.

Anson squatted down in front of the cello and began tapping on the instrument's panel and side as if they were drum surfaces—

Tap. Taptap.

Thud. Thudthud.

The rhythm varied, sometimes crisp, sometimes muddled, sometimes light, sometimes lively. It danced nimbly through the three layers of string sounds, the notes fluttering gracefully, creating a magnificent and wondrous scene right in the heart of New York's concrete jungle.

Unbelievable!

Exclamations of surprise, admiration, and astonishment rippled through the crowd, but all those voices soon got stuck in their throats as everyone stared in shock at what was unfolding before them.

The cacophony of traffic and city noise seemed to become a natural backdrop, blending with the performance, eventually transforming into a fifth member of the band.

Blair felt a tremor in her soul as she watched Anson, completely transfixed.

After just four short measures, Anson stood up, finished the drumbeat, and returned to the snare drum, picking up his guitar.

Then it was Connor's turn.

Finally, it was Lily's.

One by one, the layers of melody gradually returned to simplicity. After all the embellishments were stripped away, only the cello remained.

Miles sat quietly in place, his gaze focused and immersed. His mind and soul gradually sank into the melody, resonating with the cello. The usual deep and soothing sound of the cello now carried a lonely and desolate bitterness, standing solitary at the center of the world.

No one had expected that the cello could possess such charm.

Even in a symphony orchestra, the cello often seemed to be overlooked or forgotten, always in a supporting role due to its bass tones. When played solo, it could sound monotonous, lacking in melodic and emotional depth.

Yet now, with just one cello, the performance captivated everyone's attention for ninety seconds, leaving them entranced.

Miles's bowing slowed down, the faint sadness in the lonely string notes flowed and spread, transforming the bustling street into a secluded corner where only they were singing—

With no one to listen.

The power of emotion, grand and overflowing, washed over the crowd.

The entire scene fell into silence, and you could almost see the thoughts swirling in people's eyes.

The string sound ended with a brief pause, and then—

Ding.

The clear, bright sound of a guitar string being gently plucked broke the silence, like a drop of water falling onto a deep blue glacier, sending a shiver through the air.

The heartstrings were plucked.

Everyone's gaze turned sharply toward the source of the sound—it was Connor.

Connor stood beside Miles, holding his guitar, his eyes focused and filled with emotion as he gazed at the instrument. There was a hint of attachment in his expression, a mix of reluctance, wistfulness, and melancholy that turned into a soft smile, his slender fingers flying over the strings.

Clear, bright, lingering, and distant.

With only one guitar, the song floated through the air like a gentle breeze passing through a valley, causing the heartbeat to skip a beat.

--

When I turned my head, I saw Anson.

A guitar in hand, a voice singing softly, as if no one was listening, as if no one was appreciating it, as if he stood at the edge of the world.

"Through the darkness, I search for my direction, guided by the beating of a heart. I don't know where this journey will end, but I clearly remember where it began." (Note 1)

Vast, immense, boundless. There were no tricks, no embellishments. Anson's voice intertwined with the guitar strings, returning everything to its most primal state. No need for adornment, yet all the emotions between the lines were fully released. The noise of the world had completely settled.

Stripping away the complexities, stripping away the chaos, he laid his voice bare—his vulnerability, his despair, his confusion—all completely unreserved.

Standing before me, Anson seemed lost in an endless darkness, overwhelmed, with an immense weight almost crushing his shoulders. The sorrow he never spoke of scarred his soul deeply, bleeding. He closed his eyes, listening for the direction his heart would lead him.

Then.

A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. It's not tears that signify sadness; the bitterness behind that smile is what truly tightens your heart, bringing with it a deep sense of sorrow and loneliness.

His steps faltered, broken and fragmented.

Yet Anson's gaze remained clear.

"Hey, they say I'm young and foolish, they say I'm chasing dreams that won't come true. If I don't wake up, life will slip through my fingers."

"But I don't care."

Miles watched Anson, memories of the past two years flooding his mind—bittersweet, sad yet happy. A sigh of resignation rose in his chest as his bow touched the strings again, syncing with Anson's voice, gently pulling out a melody that danced through the darkness—both soothing and lingering.

"When I reach the end, wake me up. When I'm wiser and older. I've spent my life searching for myself, not realizing I've been lost all along."

The bright sound of the guitar and the deep tone of the cello blended seamlessly, miraculously resonating together, dancing along with Anson's voice.

The simplest strings. The simplest song.

But that was enough.

Tears welled up in Lily's eyes. Right now, they were still standing on a New York street, but she no longer cared about the crowd gathering around them, nor whether their music was being heard. She just wanted to savor this moment, enjoy the happiness and pleasure that music brought.

Sure, dreams can't pay the bills, can't fill your stomach, can't cover the rent.

But dreams make life bearable.

Without dreams, they'd just be soulless bodies, living an empty existence, never daring to explore the truth of their souls.

Anson said he didn't care.

Even if it meant wasting time, wasting life, he didn't care. Even if it meant being young and foolish, chasing impossible dreams, he didn't care. He just wanted to hold onto this moment, embrace himself, embrace his dreams, and embrace the brilliance and intensity of life.

Even if, in the end, they choose to give up, return to the mundane, return to the everyday, at least they had burned brightly once.

Taking a deep breath, Lily found her smile again.

"When I reach the end, wake me up. When I'm wiser and older…"

A high note, beautifully held, sustained and soaring. It was a whisper, yet it was also a declaration.

"I've spent my life searching for myself…"

Then, a pause.

Anson's bright eyes lifted, looking at Lily, looking at Connor, and finally, resting on Miles. His song faded into a quiet void, like a murmured confession.

"Not realizing I've been lost all along."

The final note lingered, a soft bitterness hanging in the air.

Blair hadn't even realized that tears were streaming down her face. Despite using all her strength to hold them back, she couldn't stop the flood of emotion. She stood amidst the bustling crowd, yet felt so alone. It was just her and the four people in front of her, just her and the melody floating in the air.

They were fools, all of them—fools who still believed in dreams.

And yet.

At that moment, Anson's smile brightened, like the blazing sun in June, as he shouted out, "Hey-ya!"

(Note 1: Wake Me Up—Avicii (Hoppipolla version))

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