Chapter Three

Chapter 3: Talking to Silence

Silence has a sound when you’re live.

It’s the hum of a PC fan. The faint echo of your own voice in your headset. The clock you didn’t realize you were watching until you notice how slow it’s moving.

Alex learned that early.

Some nights, chat didn’t move at all. Not for minutes. Not for hours. The viewer count stayed flat. Sometimes zero. Sometimes one that flickered in and out like a faulty lightbulb.

He talked anyway.

At first it felt ridiculous. Explaining his decisions out loud. Reacting to moments like someone was listening. Laughing at jokes that landed nowhere.

But he kept going.

Not because he believed someone would show up. Because stopping felt like admitting the silence had won.

He narrated gameplay like a sportscaster. Asked questions no one answered. Reacted to moments that deserved energy even if the room didn’t give it back.

“Alright chat, here’s what we’re gonna do…”

There was no chat.

Just him.

Streams peaked at three viewers sometimes. And weirdly, those were the best nights. Three felt enormous. Three felt like proof.

He remembers staring at that number once and smiling like he’d just sold out an arena.

Someone chose this, he thought.
Someone stayed.

Not every stream was smooth. Jokes missed. Commentary dragged. Energy dipped.

There were moments where he said something, waited half a second for a response that didn’t exist, and just kept going like nothing happened.

No apology. No awkward pause.

Just forward motion.

That became a skill.

Consistency when motivation was gone.

There were nights he didn’t want to stream. Nights where the idea of pretending to be entertaining felt exhausting. Nights where he sat in his chair before going live and thought about doing literally anything else.

He went live anyway.

“Even if nobody’s here,” he said once, quietly, like he was convincing himself, “I’m still showing up.”

That sentence became a rule.

Then one night, chat moved.

Not much. Just a message.

A name he’d seen before.

“Hey man.”

Alex responded instantly. Too fast. Like he’d been waiting for it.

That name kept coming back. Same time. Same vibe. Same presence. A regular.

Not a fan. A person.

That changed everything.

Streams stopped feeling like broadcasts and started feeling like conversations. Inside jokes formed. Familiar usernames meant something. Silence didn’t feel as heavy anymore because it wasn’t permanent.

Then came the sentence he didn’t expect to hit as hard as it did.

“I watch you every day.”

Alex read it twice to make sure he didn’t imagine it.

Every day.

Not for highlights. Not for big moments. Just… showing up.

He thanked them, brushed it off like it was no big deal, kept playing.

But after stream ended, he sat there longer than usual.

Because suddenly, this wasn’t just about him anymore.

“I don’t need to be famous,” he said on another stream weeks later. “I just need this to matter.”

And it did.

Not because of numbers. Because of presence.

Because even on the nights where motivation was gone, he had built something worth being consistent for.

“If I stop now,” he said once, half joking, half serious, “I’ll never know.”

That wasn’t fear talking.

That was commitment.