The premiere was chaos—flashes of cameras, the low hum of reporters, the crowd pressed tight against the barricades, screaming names as black cars pulled up one after another. Jenna had grown used to it—the rhythm of premieres, the way lights followed her, the way people called her name like a chant. But even she felt the subtle fatigue behind her smile as she stepped out of the car, Enrique close behind, his presence grounding her in familiarity.

She waved, posed, shifted angles when the photographers asked, her dark brown hair—down and glossy under the lights—catching hints of red where the flashes hit it. She stood at five foot one, small yet striking, her presence commanding more attention than her height ever could. The dress shimmered like liquid midnight against her skin, elegant but not loud. She always preferred quiet power to spectacle. As she turned her head slightly to greet another journalist, something caught her attention—a stillness among the noise.

In the middle of the crowd, pressed between waving arms and phones, stood a woman who wasn’t screaming or trying to get closer. Just watching. Jenna’s gaze lingered longer than it should have. The stillness around you felt magnetic in a sea of chaos. She couldn’t quite explain it—she only knew she couldn’t look away. For a moment, everything around her blurred—the lights, the people, the noise—and all that remained was you. It was cut short when a shout of her name reminded her where she was and she had to will her legs to move past your spot.

Hours passed, though it didn’t feel like it. The after-party buzz faded, the laughter dulled, and the exhaustion settled in her bones. But she couldn’t stop thinking about you. She tried, more than once—tried to shake the memory of that face, that quiet in the middle of noise. She wasn't sure what she was feeling. Curiosity? Infatuation? A need to know why you were looking at her in that way.

“Earth to Jenna,” Enrique teased, adjusting his glasses as they left the restaurant. The city had gone quieter now, only the hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables filling the air. Jenna chuckled, shaking her head. “Sorry,” she murmured, her tone gentle. He didn’t press. They walked the rest of the way in silence, the night wrapping around them like soft velvet.

Then, halfway down the street, Jenna slowed. Her heart gave a strange, quick skip. There—across the dimly lit sidewalk, near the corner where the hotel’s light spilled over the pavement—you were walking by the hotel door. Jenna blinked once, twice, disbelief giving way to something deeper. She didn’t even realize she had stopped walking until Enrique turned to look at her.

“Jenna?” he asked quietly, for him, you were just another random woman—he probably hadn't even noticed you. But she wasn’t listening anymore. Her chest felt tight, like something inside her had already decided what to do before her mind could catch up. She stepped forward, her voice breaking the quiet between you—soft but certain.

“Hey!”

Her hand lifted slightly, palm open, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she started walking toward you.