KRISTIAN'S POV

I feel like the world is about to end now that Parisa is—I can't even say it! I don't want to believe she is gone because life cannot go on without her. It's very cliché to use my lyrics, but the water is too deep to swim up to safety and breathe. It's like I am doomed to stay in this beautiful mess for not just tonight, but forever.

It has only been twenty-four hours—a full day since Daniel told me she... I have not left my room or answered any messages because I cannot face anyone when I am this heartbroken and sad. How can I when my girlfriend is no longer living? I cannot call her, text her, or look forward to seeing her perform here in a couple weeks. Her music is too much for me right now because when I hear her voice, I become emotional; it is too much for me to handle.

I know how I must be looking to my team and family. I think I had a few interviews this morning or something, but I skipped everything. Everyone now knows Parisa is—was my girlfriend. They would have asked me questions about her if I went like I was scheduled. I could not do that. I cannot talk to anyone about this because they don't understand how much she meant to me.

Parisa is special to millions of people around the world, not just me. On Twitter last night, I read some of her fans' tweets and they broke my heart. I could not stop crying when I saw the love pour from everyone, fans of Parisa or not, and the comments on my posts made it worse.

People supported us. People gave me their condolences and told me they are here for me. It touched me to read these messages from complete strangers around the world, and most of them were her fans.

I hear a knock on he door and sigh. It's probably just Daniel, as always, trying to make me leave the room. He has been trying every hour, but I have not responded yet. He will probably scold me for not taking care of myself.

A louder knock sounds this time. He just will not give up! The person knocks again, so I throw off my sheets and get up.

"I'M COMING! I'M COMING!" I yell in Russian. "Geeze, hold on a sec!"

I quickly turn my phone off and take a peek in the mirror. Ugh! I pat my cheeks and check to see my eyes; they are bloodshot and I am paler again. I look like absolute shit.

It's only Daniel, I think to myself as I fix my hair. Who cares if he tells you off, Kris? He's your brother! Of course he would do that! But he should understand how hard this is for you. Parisa's—it was a shock. It was a shock for EVERYONE. Nobody thought anything like that would happen again so soon.

I sigh again, grab my glasses, ad put them on. I quietly approach the door and press my ear against it. For a few seconds, I don't hear a thing. It's absolutely quiet. Then, another knock.

"WHAT?" I angrily answer once the door swings open.

I expected to see my brother on the other side since he lives here. The beautiful blonde beside him, I did not expect. She is tall, a little shorter than Dani, but still tall for a girl. She looks like she has been crying for a long time like me. Her blue eyes are reddened and her cheeks, tearstained. Despite that, she is still incredibly gorgeous...and familiar looking. I think I have seen her before.

"Giovanna," she introduces herself with a noticeable Italian accent, holding her hand out. "Giovanna Ferragni."

I grab her hand and shake it, still not sure of what to say. Giovanna looks into my eyes and I immediately let go of her hand and lower my gaze.

"She just flew in an hour ago," Dani explains. "She flew in from Paris, Kris. Giovanna i—"

"Parisa's manager," she cuts him off, her voice shaking. That's why she looks so familiar! "I knew I had to see you ASAP, but I had to stay back to deal with...you know. C-can I come in and talk to you? I just want to know how you're holding up. Kristian, I understand. Daniel told me you haven't left your room or anything. Will you talk to me?"

I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, letting them know I'm thinking about it. Daniel is definitely concerned. I have not seen him this worried since Eurovision when I told him I was homesick.

The blonde, Givovanna Ferrari or whatever, regards me like a scientist studying a lab animal. She curiously watches every facial expression, every move I make. I would not be surprised if she has a pen and clipboard in her bag so she can write down notes.

I gaze directly into her eyes for a second and feel her sadness. This woman is responsible for Parisa's career. She knows Parisa better than anyone besides her parents. Maybe she has a suggestion for what to do. Maybe she can help.

"Come in," I say as I step inside. "I want to hear what you have to say."

She nods her head and shoots Daniel a small smile, probably to thank him for his time or something. I think I saw him blush. He definitely thinks she is beautiful.

"You guys seem to have a thing for Italian girls," Giovanna chuckles once the door closes. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and sits on the side of my bed. "You dated Parisa, you also like Ariana Grande, and your brother totally thinks I'm hot."

I can't help chuckling at her last words. I sit down and sigh. The room seems dark now that I have been exposed to light, so I turn on the lights. For a second, it blinds me and I have to squeeze my eyes shut. I slowly open my eyes and wait for them to adjust, then relax.

"I had a feeling he likes you," I voice. "It was the way he looked at you."

"It's not the same as the one you have when someone mentions Parisa."

There it is. My stomach drops and I get that horrible world ending feeling again. This is why I do not go on social media or watch the news. Her name is EVERYWHERE! It's too soon for everything.

"Kristian," she sighs. "Can you at least sit up and speak to me? I didn't fly over here from Paris so you could completely ignore me. You have to tell someone how you're feeling to cope with your grief. You can't stay in here and avoid everything forever."

"Why not?" I grumble, folding my arms over my chest. "I am perfectly fine here."

Giovanna scoffs, pulls me up, and fixes my glasses because they're crooked. She also folds her arms over her chest, but looks at me like she is about to have a serious talk. This is the look my mom gives me when she wants to do that!

"I'd say you're acting like a child, but you kinda still are one," she sternly says. I roll my eyes and scoff, which makes her more mad. "Seriously, Kristian! You're a freaking pop star and you have obligations to fulfill if you want to sustain your career!"

"And?"

"What do you mean 'and?' YOURS IS JUST BEGINNING, GODDAMMIT! You know who wouldn't want to see you in this mess? You know who would want you to continue your life and NOT throw it away like this? Parisa."

My eyes widen and I scoot back, horrified that she said her name again. Giovanna doesn't care. She inches closer, but not in a seductive way. She is definitely trying to intimidate me.

"I said her name, Kostov, and I'll say it again if you don't cooperate with me here. Now, let's start with the ring around your neck."

"Th-the ring?" I gulp, touching the golden band, feeling every gem on it. "Wh-what about this ring?"

"It's hers, isn't it? I noticed it wasn't on her finger before she went on stage. That's the one her parents gave for winning Eurovision. She gave it as a parting gift before you came back here, didn't she?"

"Yeah," I sorrowfully confess. "She did so I'd have a part of her wherever I go. I-I didn't think it would be a real parting gift. I thought it was only a—"

"A token of her love?" Giovanna guesses, looking at me sympathetically. I can only nod my head. "Wow, what a beautiful mess you're in."

"That weird moment when you song title matches your situation," I state, which makes her chuckle. "You said it. It must be true."

"I'm glad it's getting you to open up a little. Let's use that as an analogy for this situation."

I straighten myself and curiously regard her. "What do you mean?"

"We'll use Parisa as your muse in the song," she starts. "How does the chorus go again?"

"And we don't have a thing to lose. No matter what you say or od, I don't want nothing more. Our love is untouchable," I recite, almost singing it, but catching myself before I continue. "Even in the line of fire when everything is on the wire, even up against the wall our love is untouchable."

"Di preciso! Splendidamente detto!" (Exactly! Beautifully said!)

"In English please. You know I don't speak Italian."

"I basically said you described your relationship beautifully."

"I am sorry. I do not understand what you mean."

Giovanna shakes her head, then holds my shoulders. She intensely looks into my eyes and sighs again. I can't count how many times she or I have sighed now. It's a ridiculous amount at this point.

"Okay, let me spell it out in a way you'll comprehend," she begins, her Italian accent somehow sounding thicker than when she last spoke. "Kristian, do you know how much Parisa opposed a relationship with you?"

"Wait. Sh-she did not like me?" I ask, hurt. I play with the ring and anxiously run a hand through my hair. "So everything she told me was a l—"

"So not a lie! Kristian, the only reason why she didn't want to be with you is because she thought everyone would think you were PR. She did like you, Kristian. She really, really liked you. She told me so herself. She cried when you left if that says anything about how much she cared."

"Stop talking in the past!" I plead. My eyes are starting to water just thinking about it. "You are talking about her like sh—"

"She IS dead, Kristian!" she sobs. "No matter how hard we don't want to believe it, we have to accept it. Kristian, Parisa is dead. She has been for over a day now and I-I-I don't k—"

Giovanna cries into my arms, unable to contain her emotions any longer. This is a strange situation. I am now comforting a woman ten years older than me, patting her back and assuring her that everything will be just fine. I need to hear myself say those words too.

We are both grieving over the same person, and she meant so much to us. I guess we both need this moment right now. We need to help each other for support.

"I-I told her I love her," I quietly confess. Giovanna instantly raises her head and stares at me with increasing interest. "It was the last thing I ever said to her. I do not know if she understood because I said it in Bulgarian. But yeah, I-I still told her I love her."

"Kristian," Giovanna breathes, wiping her tears away. "Tha-that's so beautiful. Ugh, you two break my heart! You were so perfect for each other! Hapas, multi-lingual, amazing singers, Eurovision..."

"Вот она!" (Here she goes!)

"...was beautiful. You embodied the perfect young romance and then, just like Romeo and Juliet, tragedy struck! Of course both of you aren't dead, but it's kinda the same except not really because everyone shipped you a—"

"Can you just get to the point?" I snap. "You probably have better things to do than talk to me about her."

"You can't even say her name, can you?"

Dammit. She's right. I cannot deal with anything that relates to her, and that includes saying her name. I feel like if I say it, something worse will happen.

"No," I confide as I start becoming emotional again. "I cannot say her name out loud. I cannot watch the news, go online, or listen to her music. It hurts too much, Giovanna! I cannot do it because that will make everything real!"

Right now, I am crying uncontrollably. I'm shaking and probably look like a little kid crying in front of his mom, but I don't care. Giovanna brought it up. She triggered this pain, this sorrow, this disastrous nightmare! If anyone else saw me like this, they would think I am a big cry baby.

Not Giovanna. She treats me like the child I am, playing the role of doting mother. She will be a great one when she has kids. Giovanna is very mother-like.

"Don't stay in this beautiful mess, Kristian," she advises, wiping away my tears. "Sadness doesn't look good on you, kid. The love you have for Parisa is untouchable. Nobody can take away your memories or what she meant to you. You need to do something about this. What's the lyric about colors and light?"

"Um, when the colors turn gray and the lights all fade to black again?"

"And the line after that?"

"We're in over our heads, but somehow we'll make it back again," I answer. "Wh-why are you making me do this?"

"Because I am about to help you and the Parisa Pack make it back again," she responds with a little spark in her eyes. Or is that water from tears? "This black and gray will be light and color once again. I won't let those terrorists leave us in this beautiful mess, Kristian. We can't let them win."

"H-how are you going to do that?" I wonder.

Giovanna's beauty radiates as she smiles. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and pulls out her phone.

"Pull out THE best post-funeral celebration to celebrate Parisa. We're pulling an Ariana. This will benefit the families of the other victims and pay homage to our girl," she explains.

"You are throwing a benefit concert?"

"Kinda. It'll be a tribute/benefit show. We'll round up some of Parisa's friends and heroes for the show, and they'll all be singing her songs. At the end of the show, we'll do something really special to commemorate Parisa and everyone else who lost their lives last night. Oh, and you'll end the show with 'Un'ultima volta' for obvious reasons."

"But I—"

"You don't have to know Italian to sing it, Kostov," she counters. "If Nathan Trent can sing 'Amar pelos dois' and not know a lick of Portuguese, you can certainly sing her song. You'll be fine. Now, we're gonna catch you up on everything about the attack. I'm not leaving until you're fully exposed to it too. If you want to climb out of this mess and make Parisa proud, you must confront the situation. Our guardian angel will be watching. It's what she'd want, Kristian."

Giovanna is right. I cannot go on like this, and Parisa would want me to do something to show the world that nothing can touch our love. I want to remember Parisa and honor her as an artist and human being for everything she has done. She touched so many people with her music. It's only right if we celebrate her life with music and culture too.

Do I stay in this fear, this horror, this beautiful mess? Maybe for tonight still, but not forever. For Parisa, I will be strong. And I will have her precious ring to remember her forever and always.

Those three colors—green, white, and red—stand for Parisa's Persian-Italian ethnic blend. Switch the white and green, and you get Bulgaria. That is more than a coincidence. That is more proof that Parisa was meant for me, and I will honor her life and music with all my heart until I die.

A/N:

Firstly, I would like to thank you guys so much for 600 reads. This is absolutely AMAZING!! 

Second, I would like to apologize for being so MIA lately. Long story short, I finally got help for my depression after I tried to kill myself.

Last, I really hope you guys are enjoying the story. I don't know if you are, but I'm just happy that you're reading along. Really, you have no clue how much this means to me. xx