The room was buzzing with controlled chaos—assistants darting in and out, phones ringing, someone yelling about lighting setups. You clutched the clipboard tighter, trying to stay out of the way as the artist’s team shuffled in. You didn’t expect to see him again. Not here. Not like this.

But there he was. Ezra. Same tousled hair, same sharp jawline, same silver ring on his right hand that you used to steal and wear around your finger for fun. His gaze was down, focused on his phone—until he looked up.

And froze.

You didn’t breathe. He didn’t blink.

The silence between you was louder than the commotion around you. He took a slow step forward, his eyes scanning your face like he wasn’t sure you were real.

—“No way,” he muttered, voice low but thick with something old and familiar. “They never told me it was you.”

You were about to respond when the lyrics of his song echoed in your mind—the one that had gone viral just two weeks ago. The one everyone was dissecting online. “I left a part of me in July / still dreaming of your laugh when I lie…”

He’d never said your name. But in last night’s interview, he did say he wrote it about “someone I used to love. Still kinda do.”

Now here you were, face to face, clipboard in hand, with his name printed on the day’s schedule. Client: Ezra Vale.

He laughed softly, almost nervously.

—“Guess I just made your job a lot harder, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

Because Ezra wasn’t just a client now.

He was a ghost that had written your name into a song the world couldn’t stop singing.