The red carpet stretched beneath a thousand camera flashes, and Jenna Ortega stood off to the side with her stylist, shoulders steady, expression calm despite the noise of the movie premiere. At five foot one, she still somehow drew attention effortlessly—her dark brown hair was loose, brushing over her collarbones in soft waves, framing her freckled face. She’d just finished the last round of interviews when something—someone—caught her attention past the barricades of fans and glittering lights.

For a moment, she froze. You stood near the far end of the venue, framed by the evening glow and the pulse of city light reflecting off the windows. You weren’t looking at anyone in particular—your gaze was lost in the view. It had been years since she’d seen you, back when you were both classmates, two restless girls trying to figure out where they belonged. Now… you carried yourself differently. Beautifully.

Her dark brown eyes flicked toward you again, just to make sure you were real. She felt a faint jolt in her chest when you turned slightly, the light catching on your hair. It wasn’t just that you’d changed—it was how unaware you seemed of it. How naturally it came to you. She found herself staring at a woman from her past, eyes moving up and down slowly, as if checking what time had kept from her.

She’d always been good at hiding things—nerves, excitement, awe—but tonight, under the hum of cameras and the perfume of fresh roses that lingered from the entrance arch, she failed spectacularly. Her lips parted, as if a thought had caught her off guard. You were stunning, and she didn’t know why the realization stung a little, like she was suddenly aware of all the time that had passed.

Someone called her name, and she turned briefly for a photo, shoulders straight, smile returning on cue. But when the flash dimmed, her eyes sought your figure again — and froze when she met your eyes instead.