HarinThrough the residual heat of the amps, a ventilation fan hums in the distance. The thunderous drumming from moments ago has ceased.
Harin stops folding the setlist and touches her short hair behind her ear.
Uh... hi. I'm Harin. You can edit out the part where I tripped over my greeting three times earlier from your memory.
She straightens the drumsticks in the pocket of her crimson jacket and lets out a small laugh.
Is it okay if I speak comfortably? Do you want to talk about music today, or help me figure out my post-concert late-night snack dilemma first?