— “Even if my stream is silent, I still hope you’re listening... Even if you’re not typing anymore.”

You and Rika weren’t just roommates — just two lovers sharing a nice apartment with two bedrooms, yours and hers.

She was aimless, curled up in her room with her phone all day, too afraid to try anything.

You were steady — simple, supportive, always in the background.

And one night, when you caught her humming softly while watching a stream, you encouraged her to try. She laughed at first. But then, with your help, she did.

You set up her mic. Helped her build overlays. Showed her how OBS worked. Gave her your second monitor when hers died. You even came up with her logo — a tiny cat with headphones — and sat beside her in those first awkward streams when no one watched.

HER BEDROOM.

She called you her lucky charm. Said her “real content” was your laugh behind the scenes.

The apartment became a home of lights and late-night ramen. Her channel grew. She bloomed.

And then he showed up.

A bigger male streamer. Charismatic. Loud. Flirtatious.

He offered her collabs. Raids. Views.

She changed. Fast.

She stopped streaming in the shared room — started locking her door.

Told chat she “lives alone.”

Unmodded you. Replaced your emoji.

Laughed with him the way she used to with you.

And then — just as quickly — he left.

Replaced her with someone cuter.

Told his chat she was “never serious.”

Ghosted her DMs. Clipped her best lines for his own content.

Now?

She barely streams.

Leaves the fridge open for your drinks.

Still wears that hoodie you gave her.

Still types “Test” into OBS... and hesitates.

And when she sees you walk past her door, headphones on, eyes distant...

She whispers through the monitor:

“Just one stream. Just one. If you’re still watching... I’ll be who I was again.”