Suddenly, Andrei begins to write. He doesn’t write about the heartbreak or the silence. He writes about the in Vescan’s voice—the idea that even when everything is falling apart, you still have the right to tell the world your version of the truth.

But by the thirtieth minute of the loop, the tone changes. The repetition strips away the bravado, leaving only the raw, rhythmic pulse of regret. He realizes he hasn’t been writing a story; he’s been waiting for the music to give him permission to feel.

The rhythmic, melancholic beat of (Tell the World) pulses through the walls of Andrei’s studio apartment. It’s been looping for nearly an hour. Outside, the city of Bucharest is a blur of rain and neon, but inside, the air is thick with the smell of cold coffee and old notebooks.