AGAPE

The apartment smelled like last night's beans and this morning's rain. Hope Agape sat cross-legged on the worn couch, laptop balanced on a throw pillow to keep it from overheating. The fan whirred loud enough to wake King if he wasn't already asleep but he was. Ten years old and dead to the world, curled at the other end of the couch with one shoe still on, the other lost somewhere between here and the front door. Victory was in the corner, phone glow lighting her face, thumbs moving faster than Hope could track. Fifteen and permanently attached to that device. She hadn't looked up once in the last hour. Elijah's jacket was gone from the hook by the door. His night shift at the local inn started at 9pm. He'd left without saying goodbye again. Hope pulled up her banking app on the laptop screen. Then she pulled up to the grocery delivery site. Two tabs. Two numbers that didn't match. Electric bill: $147 Groceries for the week: $89 Money left after rent: $112 She closed the grocery tab. Beans again tomorrow. King would complain. Victory would roll her eyes. Elijah wouldn't say anything he never did but he'd eat less than usual so the younger ones could have more. Hope pressed play on her phone. Keyshia Cole's "Love" filled the small living room. Not loud enough to wake King. Just loud enough to make the space feel less empty. On the screen, a man played keyboard at a small venue she'd never been able to afford to visit in person. The video was grainy. Someone in the audience had filmed it. But Hope didn't care about the quality. She cared about the way his fingers moved across the keys. Slow. Certain. Like he was having a conversation no one else could hear. His name was David Jones. Twenty-six. The youngest of five. And according to the comment section under every video, he was the best musician in town who hadn't sold out yet. Hope had been watching his videos for eight months. She'd never spoken to him. Never commented. Never liked a post because that would mean creating an account, and creating an account would mean having a digital footprint, and having a digital footprint would mean someone might actually see her name attached to his content. She couldn't explain why that terrified her. Yes she could. Because people like David Jones didn't notice people like Hope Agape. "You're watching him again." Victory didn't even look up from her phone. "Mind your business." "You've watched that same video fourteen times this month. I counted." "You need a hobby." "Says the girl whose only hobby is watching a man who doesn't know she exists." Hope threw a cushion at her. Victory caught it without looking. Show-off. "He's talented," Hope said. "That's all." "Uh-huh." "He is." "Did you see that interview someone posted last week?" Hope's stomach flipped. She hadn't. "What interview?" Victory finally looked up. Grinned. "He said his favorite thing about performing is when people in the back sing along. Said it makes him feel less alone up there." Hope's chest did something complicated. "You're always in the back of those videos," Victory added. "Well. In spirit. Since you can't actually afford to go." "Victory." "I'm just saying. He's looking for someone like you and doesn't even know it." "He's looking for someone who sings along. That's literally millions of people." "But only one of them is my painfully shy sister who hasn't told a single soul she's in love with a keyboardist she's never met." "I'm not in love with him." Victory raised an eyebrow. Hope looked back at the laptop screen. The electric bill. The grocery tab she'd closed. The math that never quite worked. Her parents would have known what to do. Mom would have made something out of nothing, beans transformed into a feast with the right spices and a story about the old country. Dad would have fixed the laptop fan with duct tape and a joke about being an engineer now. But they'd been gone for four years. Car accident on a road that should have been closed for rain. Hope still caught herself reaching for the phone to call her mother. Still almost said "I'll ask Dad" when Victory needed homework help. Still woke up some mornings forgetting they weren't in the next room. She clicked over to the video again. David was smiling now. Not at the camera. At someone off-stage. A soft, easy smile that made Hope wonder what it would feel like to be on the receiving end. "He's playing The Lantern this Friday," Victory said. Hope didn't respond. "You should go." "With what money?" "Elijah said he'd cover your ticket if you asked." Hope turned. "You talked to Elijah about this?" "We all know, Hope. We're not blind." Victory's voice was softer now. Less teasing. "You've been holding us together since you were eighteen. Let us hold you up for one night." Hope's throat tightened. King stirred on the couch. Mumbled something about his shoe. Didn't wake up. The video ended. Auto-play suggested another one. Same venue. Different songs. Same hands on the same keys. Hope closed her phone. "I'll think about it." "That's not a no." "It's not a yes either." Victory grinned and went back to her phone. "Friday. Eight o'clock. I'll tell Elijah to get the ticket." Hope didn't argue. She looked at the laptop screen again. The two tabs. The numbers. The life she was barely holding together. Then she opened her phone. Created an account on the video platform. Typed a username before she could talk herself out of it. AgapeHope And under the most recent video of David Jones playing Keyshia Cole, she typed four words: This made my day. Then she closed the phone, set it face-down on the cushion, and tried to pretend her heart wasn't racing. --- Friday. She'd find a way to be there. Even if she had to stand in the back. Even if he never saw her. Even if all she did was sing along.