The hallway was nearly empty, bathed in the golden hush of late afternoon. Win didn’t usually return to the university building this late, but he had forgotten his history notes in his locker, and exams were creeping closer. As he passed the music wing, something made him stop.

A voice.

It was faint at first, like a memory being sung back to life. Win turned toward it instinctively. The melody wasn’t perfect—it trembled, cracked slightly—but that made it even more real. Even more beautiful. It pulled at something inside him.

He followed it, step by step, heart beating faster with each note. The closer he got, the more the song wrapped around him like a thread. He reached the practice room door, slightly ajar, and peeked inside.

There she was.

A girl stood under the dim light, facing the far wall, eyes closed, her voice filling the room like she wasn’t afraid of the silence. Her black hair flowed down her back, her frame still as if the song was the only thing keeping her standing.

Win leaned closer, caught in the raw emotion in her voice. It wasn’t just a song. It was something deeper—something she needed to say but couldn’t speak aloud.

The last note faded. She turned slowly, startled to see someone at the door. Their eyes met. Her voice had been full of emotion, but now her face went unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” Win said softly. “I didn’t mean to spy. I just… heard you singing.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and then her voice came—quiet but clear. “It’s okay.”

“I’m Win” he said, offering a shy smile. “You sing like you’ve been carrying that song for a long time.”

The girl hesitated. “Prim,” she said at last. “I didn’t think anyone would be around this late.”

“I’m glad I was,” he replied, surprising himself with how true it felt. “That was… honestly, the most honest thing I’ve heard all day.”

A tiny smile flickered at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She gathered her bag. “I should go.”

“Will I see you again?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“Maybe,” she said. Then, without another word, she stepped past him and disappeared down the hallway.

That night, Win couldn’t sleep. Her voice lingered in his head like a song that refused to end. He knew her name now—Prim—but it only raised more questions. Who was she really? Why did she sound like her heart was breaking when she sang?

He closed his eyes, her name echoing through the silence.

Prim.

The girl with the voice that could shatter quiet.

The girl who sang like she was trying not to disappear.

And somehow, Win knew: this was only the beginning.

The voice behind the door.

It wasn't just a story.

It was a beginning.

The song she sang#

🎵 "Stay a Little Longer"

(Verse 1)

In the quiet of the hallway, I close my eyes and sing,

To the echoes of the silence, and the memories you bring.

You told me to be brave, even when the nights were cold,

But I’m still that little girl, chasing dreams you used to hold.

(Chorus)

Stay a little longer, in the corner of my mind,

I still hear your laughter, lost in borrowed time.

If I could steal one moment, before you slipped away,

I'd wrap it in this melody, and beg you, please — just stay.

(Verse 2)

I whisper to the darkness, like you’re standing near,

But shadows only answer with silence in my ear.

You were my guiding star, my fire in the storm,

But now I sing alone, just trying to feel warm.

(Chorus)

Stay a little longer, in the corner of my mind,

I still hear your laughter, lost in borrowed time.

If I could steal one moment, before you slipped away,

I'd wrap it in this melody, and beg you, please — just stay.

(Bridge)

I sing for you, I sing for me,

For everything we’ll never be.

And if this song is all that’s left,

Let it be my final breath...

(Final Chorus)

Stay a little longer, in the corners of my soul,

You're the piece I'm missing, that once made me whole.

And when the tears are falling, and I’ve nothing left to say,

I’ll find you in the music — where you’ll always stay.

...----------------...

To be continued__

Win couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t the coffee or the buzzing city lights outside his dorm window—it was her. That voice. That girl. Prim.

He replayed it over and over in his head, the way her voice cracked softly in the middle of a lyric, like it had gotten caught on some invisible wound. It wasn’t just beautiful—it was real, and it clung to him like a song you hum without knowing why.

He had met her once. A few words, a single glance. But it had been enough to shake something loose inside him.

Now he was restless.

The next day, Win skipped his afternoon lecture and went back to the east wing. The piano room was empty. He waited for nearly an hour, strumming silent chords on the edge of the bench, but Prim never came. Just dust motes and silence.

The day after that, he searched the campus—library, music department, the quiet corners near the art building—but she was nowhere. It became a habit. A search. A quiet obsession.

Then one afternoon, he saw her.

Across the courtyard, sitting alone on a bench beneath the old cherry blossom tree. Headphones on, notebook in her lap, hair tucked behind her ear. She looked peaceful, but distant. Like she was here, yet somewhere else entirely.

He started to walk toward her. Five steps in—she looked up.

Their eyes met.

And just like before—she stood and walked away.

Not fast. Not rude. Just… quiet. Like she didn’t want to be followed but knew he would try.

And he did.

But by the time he rounded the corner, she was gone.

---

It became a pattern.

He’d catch a glimpse of her near the rehearsal halls. Once, at the little café near campus. Another time by the river path where musicians liked to practice late in the afternoon.

Each time, he would try to catch up. He would call her name once—twice. But she would disappear like smoke in his fingers.

She was always just a few seconds too far.

It drove him mad, the way she moved through the world like a ghost with a song still stuck in her throat.

He started writing again. Songs about missing people you barely know. About voices behind doors. About chasing something your heart already thinks it belongs to.

His bandmates noticed the shift. His melodies got softer, his lyrics darker.

“Who's the girl?” they asked one night after practice.

Aiden just shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But I’m trying to.”

---

That night, he dreamt of her—standing in the hallway, barefoot, her voice rising in slow, aching waves. But when he reached for her, the sound vanished.

He woke up breathless, heart pounding.

Lena Rivers wasn’t just a girl anymore.

She was a mystery.

A song unfinished.

A shadow he couldn’t stop chasing.

And the more she slipped away, the more he needed to hear that voice again.

The clock struck midnight, but Win couldn’t sleep.

The silence of his room felt too loud, the ceiling too blank. His thoughts tangled like threads—messy, restless. All he could see was her. Her voice still echoed in his mind, soft and haunting. He remembered the way her eyes didn’t quite meet his, the way she smiled like she was hiding something.

He knew her name.

He didn’t know why she felt so familiar.

And yet, he needed to see her again.

Throwing off his blanket, Win pulled on a hoodie and stepped outside into the cool night. The dorm halls were empty, only his footsteps breaking the stillness. He reached the hallway where he first heard her sing. The same dim light flickered above. But the door—the one slightly open yesterday—was shut now. Silent.

He leaned his ear against it.

Nothing.

Win walked down every hallway of the music wing, trying doors, listening for a hum, a melody, anything. He checked the practice rooms, the stairwell, even the little corner behind the auditorium where musicians sometimes sat. But she was nowhere.

Each turn brought a flicker of hope. Each silence, a disappointment.

It was like chasing a shadow.

The next morning, his eyes burned from lack of sleep. Still, he returned. Every break between classes, every free hour, he searched. Watching faces. Listening. Hoping she’d appear, or that he’d hear her voice again.

Once, he thought he saw her in the crowd. Same hair, same quiet walk. He followed—but when the girl turned, it wasn’t her. His chest sank again.

Days passed like this.

No one seemed to know her. He even asked around casually: “Hey, do you know a girl who sings in the hallway sometimes?”

Most people shook their heads or gave vague answers. One said, “Maybe you're imagining things.”

But he knew he wasn’t. She was real. Her voice was too perfect, too broken. Like a wound in music. And that melody—he could still hum every note of it. It haunted him. It followed him like a ghost that refused to be forgotten.

One evening, as he sat on the steps outside the campus chapel, tired and unsure, he pulled out his guitar. He started to play—just soft chords at first. Then, without meaning to, he began to play her melody.

The moment he finished the last note, he heard it.

A soft echo, barely there. Someone humming, behind the chapel wall.

His heart stopped.

He stood, stepping slowly toward the sound. His fingers shook, breath caught in his chest. Around the corner, the stone wall curved to a small garden.

He followed the sound.

But when he turned the corner—

Silence.

Again.

A bench. A fading warmth where someone had just sat. A folded piece of paper resting on it.

Win picked it up.

In neat, careful handwriting, it read:

“Don’t follow shadows. They disappear.”

...----------------...

To be continued.

Thanks!

Why she said don't follow shadows they disappear? (know?)