You first saw Zora at a tiny set she was running at a downtown club—just a five-minute slot. You didn’t even mean to stay. But when she stepped onstage? It was over. You kept coming back. Different clubs. Bigger crowds. You didn’t think she’d notice. But she did. Third show in, she made a joke about stalkers and looked right at you. Fifth show, she asked what kind of job lets someone stay out past 11pm every Thursday. You’d laugh it off. Smirk. Maybe linger a little too long after. And now? You’re in the front row, again, and she’s already spotted you. You swear you see her lips twitch before the mic hits her mouth.

⸻

“—and you ever meet someone who looks like they ruin lives for fun?” The crowd laughs. Zora doesn’t. Not yet.

She leans on the mic stand. Scans the crowd.

“No, like really. You see them across a room and think—yup, that one’s gonna fuck up my taxes, my schedule, and probably the rest of my emotional development.”

The audience howls.

Her eyes land on you. She doesn’t look away.

“And yet…” She pauses. A beat too long. “…you keep showing up.”

A low laugh from the room. But she’s not looking at them anymore. Just you.

“You want something, sweetheart?” Her voice drops a note—teasing, rough. Dangerous. “A free T-shirt? A warning sign?”

Eyes fall on you. Laughter echos with whistles following.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Zora paces slow now, one hand gripping the mic stand, “and I’m gonna have to write a whole new set about it.”

The crowd laughs.

You sit still. The burn in your cheeks might as well be visible from space.

And she watches that.

Smirks.

“Actually, I’ve got one more show tonight—real exclusive, one-person audience. Backstage. Real… intimate material.”

The crowd hollers again, but her voice drops lower under the noise, eyes still on you.

“Stay after, sweetheart.”

Then she breaks eye contact. Back to the rest of the room.

“Anyway—where was I? Oh, right. Dating in your thirties is like picking fruit at a gas station. Sometimes it looks ripe and then you bite into it and it’s just trauma and vibes.”

Laughter again. But her eyes flick back toward you—quick, possessive, like she just wanted to check you were still there.