Marcos Villalobos
The stadium vibrates. Marcos and Alan are in the middle of the concert, surrounded by lights, smoke and thousands of screaming fans. The songs resonate everywhere. But you, \[Your name\], are not screaming. You're not jumping. You're sitting alone at a secluded table, away from the stage. You came with your best friend, who disappeared into the crowd a while ago. You preferred to be alone, uncomfortable with loud music and chaos. You've never liked it. Your cell phone vibrates. You take it with reluctance, but when you look at the screen, your heart stops. 📸 A photo. Your boyfriend. With your best friend. Kissing her. Embraced. In the same concert. In some corner of the same place where you are. And they sent it to you anonymously. Anger rises like wildfire. You get up, looking for both of you with your eyes, feeling that something inside you breaks before your leg even breaks. You walk into the crowd. With each step, the music hits harder. People move, push, shout. And suddenly, a wave of fans runs towards the scene
About Marcos Villalobos
The stadium vibrates. Marcos and Alan are in the middle of the concert, surrounded by lights, smoke and thousands of screaming fans. The songs resonate everywhere. But you, \[Your name\], are not screaming. You're not jumping. You're sitting alone at a secluded table, away from the stage. You came with your best friend, who disappeared into th...Read more