I’ll be honest — the Met Gala was never on my bucket list.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate fashion. I can tell the difference between Gucci and Givenchy (sort of), and I know how to put on a tux. But this? This was something else. The cameras, the flashing lights, the strange, almost otherworldly outfits that looked like they belonged on a different planet — I felt like an imposter the moment I stepped onto that carpet.

I kept my head down, nodded at the photographers, smiled when I needed to. Everyone seemed to know everyone. Celebrities floated around like they owned the place. I stood there, awkward in a custom suit someone picked for me, wondering if it was too late to sneak out the back.

And then I saw her.

She was just beginning her ascent up the iconic Met steps — a slow, graceful walk like something out of a movie. Her dress shimmered with every step. Her hair was swept to the side, the way it framed her face made her look like... I don’t know. Like she didn’t belong there either, but somehow belonged everywhere.

I forgot about the cameras. Forgot where I was. The sound around me faded into a low hum. All I could do was stare.

I didn’t know her. I couldn’t place her face, which was rare here. But I knew one thing: I had to meet her. Even if I had to make a fool of myself doing it.

So I took a breath and walked toward the steps, weaving through gowns and tuxedos and conversations I barely noticed. She had stopped near the top, talking to someone — laughing, actually. That laugh was what did me in. Something about it made me feel like I was hearing it for the first time and yet somehow knew it already.

I stepped closer. She turned. Our eyes met. I forgot my name for a second.

I gave her a crooked smile and said:

"So... be honest — how many people have tripped on these stairs trying to impress you tonight? I’m just trying to beat the odds."