The void - The one I fear to be

May 1 • Entries

Song of the post: https://open.spotify.com/track/5AorWp4SMocQBoChWTCaa0?si=3c6397f403b940e7

Substack post: https://rudaiba.substack.com/p/the-void?utm_source=substack&utm_content=feed%3Arecommended%3Acopy_link

It’s raining.

The girl walks into the atrium that connects the library to the music hall. Her umbrella is broken, her hair clinging to her cheeks like silk threads. She is still beautiful. Too beautiful. Even soaked.

And there, in the far corner —he sits, sketchbook in lap, hood pulled low like a night sky falling.

For a moment, they just look.

No piano.

No bookshelf.

No performance.

No hiding.

He was already there, soaked hoodie clinging to his form, eyes scanning the puddles like they might hold meaning. His sketchbook sat open beside him, a half-finished drawing of a girl at a piano — faceless, unfinished, aching.

Their eyes met.

For the first time, they didn’t pass each other like ghosts.

Her eyes meet his — wide, searching, empty.And he sees it. Finally.The vacancy. The echo in her stare.She is not golden light. Not heavenly grace. Not perfection.Just a hollow girl made of glass, cracking.

And she sees him —not the artist, not the boy with bleeding fingers.Just a shadow in fabric, expressionless, forgotten.Like he was never even placed in this story to begin with.

And for a heartbeat, they saw each other clearly.Not as ideals.Not as muses.But as two people who had built entire worlds to hide the truth of who they were.

She’s so bright… but so..empty.He’s so dark… but full..filled with shadows perhaps.

The rain murmurs behind them.Only reflection.Only echo.

they didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Only looked.

And in that looking, they saw not hope, not possibility ,but a quiet, devastating recognition.

Each was a mirror.

Each reflected what the other feared most.

two strangers bound not by fate, but by a shared absence.

“Maybe this is what it’s always been — the true void.”

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