It was morning—foggy and cold outside. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stretched, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Diego Ruiz, despite the chill in the air, moved with a quiet determination, preparing for the day ahead. His hair was slightly unruly, and his eyes carried a quiet fire beneath his steady gaze. He sat up on his bed and glanced at the wall, where faded photographs of his father and mother hung. His father's face was stern and proud, while his mother's was soft and comforting.

"Morning, Ma. Pa," he murmured softly, his voice carrying a mix of longing and resolve.

He began searching for his socks, muttering under his breath. "Where did I put them?" After locating a mismatched pair, he slipped them on and rolled up his checkered sleeves. Grabbing his frayed but cherished hat, he adjusted it carefully. "This is it," he whispered to himself. "Today's the day."

Diego's room, though modest, was filled with small reminders of his dreams. A worn-out poster of an indie rock band hung crookedly on the wall, next to a sketch he had drawn of a large concert stage. On his desk sat a notebook filled with lyrics and half-formed melodies. His guitar, worn but beloved, leaned against the corner—the strings slightly out of tune, the wood a little chipped. It was his most prized possession, a gift from his late father, carrying years of memories.

As he prepared to leave, he almost forgot his guitar. He chuckled to himself. "Can't forget you," he said, patting it lightly. Slinging it over his shoulder, Diego stepped outside into the misty morning.

The streets of their small town were beginning to stir. Vendors were opening their stalls, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. Diego greeted his neighbor, an elderly woman selling flowers, with a polite nod. "Good morning, Aling Nena."

"Good morning, Diego! Off to chase your dreams again?" she asked with a toothless grin.

"Yes, po. One day, you'll see me on TV," he replied with a half-joke but a full heart of hope.

The bus ride to the city was short, though Diego's mind made it feel longer. He stared out the window, watching the landscape shift from rolling hills to towering buildings. Each passing scene reminded him of the stark contrast between his simple life and the bustling world he longed to join. The bus rattled to a stop, and Diego stepped off, guitar slung over his shoulder.

As he walked the last few blocks to his destination, the scent of freshly baked donuts hit him. A small stand was set up, and he slowed his steps, his stomach rumbling. He gazed longingly at the golden-brown pastries.

"Someday," he muttered with a wistful smile, patting his empty wallet as he walked past. The vendor, noticing his lingering gaze, called out, "Hey, kid! Want to try one? On the house."

Diego hesitated but shook his head. "Thank you, but I'll earn it next time."

At the next block, Diego approached an old man sitting on a wooden stool. The man's face was weathered, his eyes kind but tired.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you know where the Alley Cafe is?" Diego asked politely.

The old man squinted and pointed to a nearby building. "Third floor, young man. Look for the door with the red sign."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day," Diego said, giving a slight bow before hurrying off.

When Diego reached the Alley Cafe, he found the room bustling with energy. Two middle-aged men and a woman sat at a cluttered table, sipping coffee and flipping through piles of papers with attached photographs. Their sharp voices carried through the room.

"I'm Diego Ruiz," he said, his voice steady. "I'm here to audition for the gig at The Sparrow concert."

The woman, who introduced herself as Lucia, extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Diego. Let's hear what you've got."

Diego unslung his guitar, tuned it, and began to sing. His voice was deep, raw, and filled with emotion. The two men exchanged skeptical glances, but Diego pressed on, pouring his heart into the melody. Memories of late-night jam sessions and his father's encouraging words fueled his performance. When he finished, Lucia gave a polite smile, but the men remained unimpressed.

"Thank you for coming," one of the men said curtly.

Diego nodded, his chest tightening. "Thanks for the opportunity," he said before leaving.

As he walked down the street, Diego spotted the old man again—his shoes worn, his frame thin but sturdy. Diego's heart ached as he moved to approach, but a sudden rush of people separated them. The old man disappeared into the crowd.

"Not everyone gets the same chances," Diego murmured, his thoughts heavy.

As he continued walking, he passed a night market where vendors were setting up. The vibrant colors and lively chatter lifted his spirits slightly. At a food stand selling chicken broth, Diego stopped and bought a bowl. The warm broth and tender chicken offered a small comfort.

When Diego finally arrived home, it was late. His Lolo Tomas sat outside, rocking gently in his bamboo chair. The old man's face lit up when he saw Diego.

"You're back," Lolo Tomas said warmly. "How did it go?"

Diego handed him the food. "Let's eat first, Lolo."

They shared the meal, and the warmth of their laughter filled the night. Lolo Tomas leaned back, smiling. "You know, Diego, no matter what happens, I'm proud of you."

Diego's eyes softened. "Thanks, Lolo. That means a lot."

After dinner, Diego retreated to his room, took a quick bath, and flopped onto his bed. Staring out the window, he saw the moon and stars. He imagined a stage, a roaring crowd, and the music that connected them all. Smiling, he drifted into a dream.

"Riiing! Riiing!"

The phone jolted him awake. He fumbled for it on the bedside table.

"Hello?" he said groggily.

"Diego! You made the cut! Congrats, bro!"

It was Dom, one of his few close friends. Diego sat up, his eyes wide.

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yup! They need a replacement singer for a small gig tonight. Can you do it?"

"Of course! Thanks, Dom. You're a lifesaver."

That evening, Diego arrived at the restaurant. The place was packed and noisy, with people laughing and drinking. He sat in a corner, guitar in hand, waiting to be introduced. His heart raced, but he took deep breaths to steady himself.

When it was time, he stepped onto the small stage. The crowd quieted slightly as he began to play. His first song was an alternative rock hit, and the audience quickly warmed to him. By the second chorus, they were singing along, clapping, and cheering.

In one corner, a young man with clean, neatly combed hair and a calm demeanor sat alone, nursing a drink. His eyes were heavy, and his movements sluggish. Partway through Diego's second song, the man's head drooped, and he passed out. The bouncer hurried over to help him outside.

Diego caught the scene out of the corner of his eye but stayed focused, his voice carrying through the room. In another corner, a petite girl with colorful hair and a pierced nose bobbed her head to the music. She had a boyish aura but exuded confidence. Her brown eyes sparkled as she mouthed the lyrics, clearly enjoying the performance.

Diego finished his set with a final, heartfelt song. The applause was thunderous, and the energy in the room was electric. As he packed up his guitar, patrons approached to compliment him.

"You've got talent, kid," one older man said, clapping him on the back.

"Thanks," Diego replied, smiling shyly.

Outside the bar, the man with neatly combed hair was lying near the entrance. His tall frame was sprawled out, and his face looked serene despite the chaos around him. As Diego walked by, the man's lips moved.

"You're a liar," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Diego paused, frowning. Was he dreaming? Talking to someone who wasn't there? The words lingered in Diego's mind as he continued walking home, the night's music still echoing in his ears.