(Dedicated for February 14 only)
Rovell Mero walked the same path every day, yet it never felt familiar.
The streets stretched before him in a blur of asphalt and tired faces, the sound of traffic mixing with the distant hum of voices students chattering, vendors calling out, engines revving.
The world moved fast, yet he felt stuck, like a passenger watching life pass by through a foggy window.
His bag weighed heavily on his shoulders, filled with books he barely had the energy to open.
His schedule was packed, his deadlines endless.
Every day was a battle to keep up, to meet expectations that never seemed to end.
He was young, just another student trying to make sense of life, but lately, everything felt… meaningless.
Why does it have to be like this?
The question echoed in his mind as he crossed the pedestrian lane, cars honking impatiently as if they, too, were in a hurry to leave him behind.
The city around him was alive too alive. People rushed to their destinations, heads down, eyes glued to screens, all trapped in their own little worlds.
Rovell sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned into a quieter street.
He used to dream of doing something great.
As a child, he had thought life would be an adventure full of excitement, passion, and moments that took his breath away.
But reality had a way of dulling those dreams.
Now, life was nothing but stress, expectations, and exhaustion.
His parents often told him that youth was supposed to be the best time of his life, but if that were true, then why did he feel so drained?
Why did every day feel like a never-ending cycle of responsibilities, where happiness was always something just out of reach?
Maybe it was just him. Maybe he wasn't strong enough, smart enough, or capable enough to handle life like everyone else seemed to.
I'm so tired.
He didn't mean just physically—though he was exhausted. It was more than that. It was the kind of tired that settled in his bones, the kind that made him question if he was moving forward or just running in place.
As he reached the entrance of his apartment building, he let out a slow breath, staring up at the dull concrete walls before finally heading inside.
The elevator ride felt like an eternity, and when he finally stepped into his room, he collapsed onto his bed without bothering to turn on the light.
The silence was deafening.
"Is this all there is?"
"Am I just going to keep waking up, pushing through the day, only to end up here again—exhausted, empty, wondering what the point of it all is?"
"I want to feel something. I want to remember what it's like to be excited about life again."
"But how?
How do you find meaning when everything feels so dull?"
He rubbed his face, sighing as he reached for his phone. Maybe music would help. It usually did, even if only for a moment.
He opened his playlist, scrolling through songs he had heard a hundred times before. But then, something new caught his eye.
Indila – Love Story
He hesitated.
He had never listened to this song before.
With nothing to lose, he tapped play.
The first note struck him like a whisper from another time. Soft, delicate, yet filled with something he couldn't quite name.
Then the melody unfolded, sweeping through his ears, wrapping around him like a long-lost memory.
Rovell closed his eyes.
And in an instant, the weight of the world lifted.
He wasn't in his dark, cramped apartment anymore. He wasn't just another student drowning in stress.
He was somewhere else.
He stand up as the song playing on his ear with every beat he felt it.
The air smelled of rain and old parchment.
The distant glow of gas lamps flickered against the mist, casting golden reflections onto cobblestone streets.
The night was alive with the sound of distant violin music, the rustling of silk gowns, the low murmur of elegant voices.
He looked down at himself, expecting the same hoodie and jeans he always wore, but they were gone. In their place, a tailored coat, polished shoes, gloves that felt foreign against his fingers.
He took a slow step forward, his breath catching in his throat.
Is this real?
He walked past grand buildings, their windows glowing warmly against the cold evening air. A couple passed by, arm in arm, their laughter soft and carefree. For a moment, he envied them. The way they seemed so happy, so full of life.
This world felt so different from his own. It was quiet, yet alive. Slow, yet full of meaning. He could breathe here. He could exist here.
The music played on, and with it, a feeling stirred in his chest something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope
Maybe life wasn't meant to be a constant struggle.
Maybe, just maybe, there was still beauty in the world, waiting to be found.
And all it took was a song to remind him.
The moment the melody reached his ears, something inside Rovell ignited.
It was as if a door had been unlocked, a hidden passageway in his mind that led him far away from the dull, suffocating world he knew.
The weight on his shoulders faded, and in its place, a lightness filled his chest warm, golden, intoxicating.
The gray walls of his small apartment melted into something grand, something radiant.
The chipped wooden floors became polished marble, reflecting the soft glow of chandeliers hanging overhead.
His simple furniture was gone, replaced by intricate Victorian décor, bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, and velvet drapes framing tall windows that overlooked a city bathed in the soft hues of twilight.
He took a step forward, and the moment his foot touched the floor, the world outside his mind blurred and transformed.
The dull city streets turned into cobblestone pathways, kissed by the light of ornate street lamps.
The sky, once hidden behind modern steel and glass, now stretched open, painted in soft shades of violet and gold.
Carriages passed by instead of cars, their wheels clattering gently against the pavement.
The scent of fresh roses and aged parchment filled the air.
And Rovell… Rovell was no longer a tired student dragging himself through another meaningless day.
He was a prince.
A noble figure draped in the finest Victorian attire, a midnight blue tailcoat adorned with gold embroidery, a white silk cravat tied neatly at his neck, and polished leather boots that tapped lightly against the cobblestone with every step.
His hair was perfectly in place, his posture regal yet effortless.
He wasn't just existing anymore. He was alive.
The music continued to play in his ears, each note sending waves of warmth through his veins.
It was more than just sound—it was a spell, weaving its magic through his senses, painting the world with colors of a time long past.
As he walked, the people around him shifted.
At first, they were just students—heads down, backpacks slung over their shoulders, rushing toward their destinations. But to Rovell, they were more than that.
They were dancers.
Men in fitted waistcoats and elegant coats, women in flowing silk gowns adorned with lace and jewels.
They moved with grace, their every step in perfect harmony with the music in his ears. The streets became a ballroom, the pavement a polished dance floor, and the city air shimmered with an almost dreamlike glow.
A woman in a lavender dress twirled past him, her skirts billowing like waves of silk. A gentleman in a deep burgundy coat bowed slightly before leading his partner into an elegant waltz. Everywhere he looked, the world was alive with movement—slow, graceful, enchanting.
Yet, none of them acknowledged him.
He was merely a spectator, a traveler caught between two realities.
And he didn't mind.
For the first time in so long, he felt something—wonder, excitement, a longing that wasn't painful but beautiful.
The music swelled, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the sensation take over completely. He spun in place, the coat around him flowing with the movement, as if he, too, were part of the dance.
The illusion was perfect.
So perfect that, for a moment, he truly believed this was real.
That this was where he belonged.
That this was where he had always been meant to be.
And then-
"Hey, watch where you're going!"
A sharp voice cut through the dream.
Rovell stumbled, blinking rapidly as the Victorian ballroom flickered like a candle in the wind.
The music still played in his ears, but the spell had cracked just enough for reality to slip through.
The waltzing dancers were gone.
They were just students again, walking toward school, some talking, some staring at their phones.
The woman in the lavender dress was actually a girl in a pale hoodie, and the gentleman in the deep burgundy coat was just a guy in his uniform, adjusting his backpack straps.
Rovell let out a breath, his heart still racing.
It wasn't real.
But God, did it feel like it was.
He took another step forward, the music still filling his mind, and though the illusion had faded, the warmth remained.
And for now, that was enough.
For now, he would keep walking.
And maybe—just maybe—the world would feel real again.
Rovell couldn't hold it in anymore. The song was too powerful, too consuming—it filled his body like liquid gold, moving through his veins, commanding him to surrender to its rhythm.
Without hesitation, he lifted his arms and began to dance.
At first, it was a simple step, a gentle sway as if testing the waters.
But then, the melody swelled, and his movements became fluid, elegant on each step gliding against the pavement like he was floating rather than walking.
He turned, his coat billowing behind him, and in his mind, he wasn't alone anymore.
His hand was held by another.
A faceless partner, dressed in the finest Victorian gown, her presence as light as a whisper yet as real as the beating of his heart.
She twirled under his arm, her laughter like the chime of distant bells, and together they waltzed through the cobblestone streets, lost in their own timeless fairytale.
The world blurred around them and golden chandeliers, candlelit balconies, the grand ballroom alive with music and murmured conversations.
The people watching them faded into nothingness.
He was the prince.
She was his partner.
And they were dancing.
But in reality, Rovell was alone.
And people were watching.
Some students paused mid-step, their conversations faltering as they turned to stare at him twirling on the sidewalk, his feet stepping in perfect rhythm to music only he could hear. A few whispered, nudging their friends and pointing in amusement. Others pulled out their phones, smirking as they recorded him.
"Dude, what is he doing?" one murmured.
"He's vibing way too hard," another chuckled.
A few laughed, shaking their heads. But not all of them mocked.
Some watched in quiet fascination.
He wasn't just moving randomly—there was something graceful about the way he danced, something so genuine that it was almost… beautiful.
And Rovell?
He didn't care.
He didn't see their stares, didn't hear their laughter or whispers.
He was too deep in his world, too caught up in the dream.
His heart soared as he led his invisible partner into the final spin, their figures illuminated by the warm glow of chandeliers.
He could feel the silk of her gloves beneath his fingers, see the way her gown rippled with every movement.
And then-
The music softened.
The dance was coming to an end.
With one last turn, Rovell released her hand, stepping back with a flourish, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration. And as any nobleman would, he bowed—low and graceful, a final act of respect to his dance partner.
He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, the lingering warmth of the dream.
But when he lifted his gaze-
She was there.
Not the woman in his fantasy.
A real one.
She stood just a few feet away, facing him, watching him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher.
Unlike the others, she wasn't laughing, wasn't pointing.
She simply stared with a curious, and intrigued look.
She was beautiful.
Not in the distant, untouchable way of the figures in his dreams, but in a way that felt real. Tangible. Her dress wasn't Victorian, but something about her presence, the way she carried herself, felt like it belonged in his dream world.
For a moment, Rovell couldn't move.
The ballroom had disappeared. The chandeliers had faded.
The song in his ears still played, but the only thing keeping him rooted to the spot was her gaze, locked onto his, steady and unreadable.
And for the first time since the song began, he wondered-
Was he still dreaming?
Or had reality finally become just as magical?
Chapter Resonance has Ended, Thank you!