A woman graced the stage, her voice twining with the lyrics of a folk song.

As Sabrina took a seat at the bar, the bartender asked, “What can I get you, miss?”

A quick reality check reminded her that she was expecting. “A Sprite, please,”

The bartender was left momentarily speechless.

He thought she was kidding, but he still brought a bottle of Sprite for

Sabrina. “Enjoy your drink.”

“Thank you,” Sabrina replied, securing her drink and finding a secluded spot. She settled into her chair, her gaze focused on the singer on the stage, her mind adrift with thoughts.

song of cicadas, beyond the city’s

What you choose to discard is what I most yearn to grasp.

words elude me when expressing my love.

voice wasn’t extraordinary, just ordinary. Perhaps due to the small audience, her voice seemed to lose a bit of its

profound. Her eyes welled up and her heart ached

of pent-up emotions chose

journey from a naive college boy to the influential president

beacon in her murky

the shadows, muddied and bruised, always

fought to

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