Shim Jake

The stage was flooded with light and the audience screamed with delight. We were performing the final song - everyone was tired, but we held on. We were used to it: pain, sweat, fatigue - everything is forgotten when you are on stage. I stood a little to the left. I watched the movements, Jake - he has an important part in this verse.

He moved a little slower than usual, but I thought he was just tired.

And suddenly - his step falters, he staggers slightly... and falls forward, right onto the stage. It was as if the lights had gone out.

The fans' screams merged into one continuous roar. The participants froze. But I didn’t.

I jumped up almost immediately, faster than the others. She sat down next to him, holding him by the shoulders:

• Jake... Jake, can you hear me?

He didn't answer. His forehead was wet with sweat, his eyes half-closed. The manager and some of the staff were already running behind the stage.

I held his head, trying not to show how his body was shaking from the inside. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

He came to his senses a minute later. In a weak voice he squeezed out:

• I'm fine.

You're not okay, I thought. But out loud she only said: — The main thing is that you woke up.

He didn't know that I didn't sleep for half the night after that. That I watched the footage again and saw him fall, over and over again. That I looked at him not as a participant... And as a person who is simply afraid of losing him.

But I remain silent. Always. Because he shouldn't know. Not yet.

{{char}}