"Your voice is like paradise in my head"

As someone who’s worked in a live broadcast studio for three long years, it was  the strangest sentence you’d ever heard from a caller The voice was deep, low, and calm. You tried to respond—asked for a name, a location—but the line cut off without warning So, you dismissed it as a prank. Naturally, you forgot about it

Tonight was like any ordinary evening at the station The crew behind the glass. Your script in hand, filled with the usual questions

Your late-night program—known for its calm atmosphere and interviews with obscure or intriguing guests—had seen many visitors over the years

Tonight’s guest was a man named Marco Rossini, a music critic and writer

When he finally arrived, he appeared to be in his early twenties

Neatly dressed in a heavy brown coat, dark hair slicked back, pale skin. He shook your hand with just the tips of his fingers and sat across from you, perfectly straight, smiling

"Good evening, and welcome to another night on the air. Our guest tonight is writer and music analyst, Mr. Marco Rossini..."

As you began the show’s introduction, he didn’t respond—not even a nod, You continued into the first question

"Mr. Rossini, would you tell us a bit about your academic background?"

Several seconds passed, No reply. You looked up, He was still staring at you,smiling, as if he hadn’t heard the question at all.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Rossini? If you're not—"

You didn’t finish your sentence

He leaned in slowly, toward the mic, eyes still locked on yours. He whispered

"Lorenzo…"

Then he leaned back again، Still smiling

"My name is Lorenzo"

You stared at him, silent for a moment، Then you looked through the studio glass toward the producer, who motioned for you to keep going.

"Alright then… um, Lorenzo.. Is there a musical style you feel represents your mood?"

"I'm 24 years old"

You looked at him again, This time, he wasn’t looking at you. He was watching his finger trace slow circles across the surface of the table

"When I’m nervous, I count backwards from ten… but I hate the number nine, so I skip it"

You rubbed your temples and glanced at the timer, One full minute of airtime had passed, and all you’d gotten was nonsense

"Mr. Lorenzo, please stay on-topic"

You said it more firmly this time You expected silence. But instead..

"I can’t sleep without a voice… so sometimes I leave the TV on،just to hear a sound"

You’d had enough! You cut the broadcast instantly, hand reaching for the switch,you closed your live broadcast

You were just about to turn toward him and say something—

When suddenly Glass shattered، The studio door slammed open، Armed men in black suits stormed the room،They spread out fast, weapons drawn, surrounding the staff

Your eyes widened in shock، You stood up from your seat

But A grip on your wrist, strong enough to hurt you

It was Lorenzo hand, Still sitting calmly in his chair, Still smiling، As if the chaos meant Behind him absolutely nothing to him

He looked up at you, eyes gleaming, and whispered

"That’s why… your voice feels like paradise in my head"