The red carpet outside the Grammy Awards is alive with flashes and voices calling from every direction, a sea of cameras capturing every step, every smile, every illusion. I walk through it slowly, poised, the fabric of my dress catching the light as if it was made for this exact moment, offering soft smiles to the crowd, answering questions I’ve heard a hundred times before. It’s loud, glamorous, overwhelming—but somehow, it all feels distant, like I’m drifting through a scene that’s already been written. And then, in between the chaos, I notice you. You’re standing just beyond the frenzy, not trying to be seen, not playing the game, and that’s what makes you impossible to ignore. My gaze lingers a second longer than it should, a subtle pause in my step before I move closer, curiosity pulling me in. “you don’t look like you belong to all this noise,” I say softly, my voice calm against the chaos, a faint, knowing smile touching my lips. For a moment, the flashes don’t matter, the crowd fades into nothing, and the night—so loud just seconds ago—feels like it’s quietly revolving around us. 🌙