Song Theft

I woke up to the steady beeping of a heart monitor.

The moment I tried to move, a sharp, searing pain shot through my waist.

I was in a hospital. The walls looked very depressing and the air smelled like blood.

I tried to sit up despite how dizzy and weak I felt. 

A strange woman was there standing by the window, dressed in all black.

She didn't look like a doctor nor was she a police officer.

"Wh-Who are you?" My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer me immediately.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes cold and unreadable.

"You have two options."

There were no introductions. No pleasantries. Straight to the point.

"You'll help me do what I want, and I'll get you out. Or you can refuse and go back to jail."

So many things had happened to me in just two days. Way too many.

I swallowed hard. "Can I at least know the details of what you… want me to do?"

She didn't blink. "When the time is right, you'll know."

Her voice was cold and direct. 

"I'll give you one minute to decide."

She glanced at the clock.

"Once I walk out that door, you'll never see me again."

I didn't need a minute.

In fact, only a fool would refuse.

Whatever she wanted me to do… it had to be better than rotting in prison for a crime I didn't commit.

"I'll do it," I said, my voice stronger than I expected.

She studied me for a second.

Then, with a small nod, she said, "Good."

She turned towards the door but paused. "Recover well. I'll take care of the rest. By the time you're fully healed, you will be a free woman."

And just like that, she was gone.

I didn’t wait too long. She came again the very next day.

Her silhouette was unmistakable. She carried a very murderous aura. 

She wore black from head to toe like a shadow carved from flesh. She didn’t smile or greet me. Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting her too. 

“You’ll be free soon.”

I blinked. My throat was dry, and my voice came out hoarse. “Wait what? Are you serious? So quickly?” I knew I was being charged for murder so it seemed unreal to me. Was she able to prove my innocence? I was hopeful. 

She stopped at the foot of my bed and looked at me like I said something really dumb.

“I don’t waste my time on jokes. You’ll be released due to lack of evidence.”

I stared blankly and tried to decipher her. But she was blank like a wall without cracks. I hated how she moved, so casually powerful, like she held all the secrets and didn’t care if I got any.

“Why?” I asked finally. “Why are you helping me?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped toward the tiny table beside my bed, adjusting the vase of withering flowers. The gesture was so small but at the same time, it was so chilling.

“You’ll be contacted soon,” she said, brushing a petal with her fingertip.

“That’s it?” I asked, desperate to hold her just a little longer. “No name? No explanation?”

She paused with her hand on the door. A slight smirk curled on her lips, but it was thin, practiced. Nothing about her feltreal.

“You’ll know everything when it’s time.”

Then she walked out the door. The door clicked shut and I was alone again with nothing but the hum of the hospital and the slow death of a flower I didn’t even know the name of.

Two weeks passed.

It was two quiet, agonizing, slow weeks.

I counted every second in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, half-convinced the world had forgotten I existed. At one point, some police officers came to the hospital for me to settle some paperwork regarding my release. 

I was really freed like she said. 

And then, one morning, the nurse walked in with discharge papers. 

The doors slid open, and I stepped out into the sunlight like I was crossing into another world. I squinted against the light, wrapping my arms around myself as the wind kissed the skin beneath my hospital clothes. 

I took a very deep breath. Finally…

I was still rejoicing at my freedom when I heard a familiar sound.

It floated on the air, it was soft at first, drifting down from a massive LED screen mounted above a nearby plaza. A crowd had gathered beneath it, clapping, cheering. I followed the sound, curiosity tugging me forward until I was standing right in front of it.

That’s when I saw her name in bold gold letters across the screen:

“BREAKING NEWS: ANNA HASTINGS WINS ‘BEST ORIGINAL SONG’ AT THE GLOBAL MUSIC AWARDS.”

And there she stood, in a silver dress that sparkled like she bled stardust, holding a trophy to her chest with that picture-perfect smile she’d practiced since we were twelve.

Then… the music continued playing.

And my body locked up.

I knew that exact note. The chord progression. The layered echo in the second verse. I knew it the way you know your own heartbeat.

Because it was mine.

Every lyric, every painful, beautiful beat, I had poured that song out on a floor in my room during the worst night of my life. 

And now…

She stood beneath a spotlight, singing my soul.

My lips parted. “That’s my song.”

I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until the woman beside me turned and gave me a weird look. She didn't say anything though just kept watching, nodding along to the lies.

“She’s so talented,” someone murmured behind me.

“That song’s a masterpiece,” another said. “She’ll be remembered forever for this.”

My hands trembled. My nails dug into my palms so hard, I felt the skin break.

The screen cut to an interview. Anna’s face filled the screen, hair tucked behind her ear, pretending to be shy.

“Oh, it just came to me one night,” she said with a delicate laugh. “I poured my soul into it. It’s dedicated to my loving boyfriend, Liam.”

Liam.

My stomach twisted.

It wasn’t just betrayal, it was also theft. Of my music. Of my love. Of everything.

“You liar,” I whispered.

My chest heaved with fury, each breath heavier than the last.

“That was my song!” I shouted.

People turned.

Some stared. Some rolled their eyes.

I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

I was already moving, already storming away from the screen, already throwing my hand up for a cab. I gave the driver the address.

“The Global Music Awards venue. Now.”

The doors slammed open with a force that startled even me. 

When I got there, The grand double doors were ahead, guarded by two men in black suits and earpieces, standing like sentinels.

I walked up, head high, pulse racing. One of them stepped forward immediately.

“Invitation card?” he asked, his tone flat but firm. 

I hesitated just for a second but that was all it took for him to narrow his eyes.

“I said, do you have an invitation?”