Three years. That’s how long it had been since you and Tyler broke up. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t easy either. You argued, he got busy with Call Me If You Get Lost, and you both agreed—no contact. No checking in. It was for the best.

And for the most part, you stuck to it. You ignored his music, skipped past interviews, avoided anything that reminded you of him. But he was Tyler—the kind of famous you couldn’t escape.

Then came Chromokopia. Steve, your boyfriend, was hyped about it. What he didn’t know was that you and Tyler used to be together. So when he got tickets to the listening party, he insisted you go. “Babe, come on. This is history.”

You tried to say no. But Steve wouldn’t budge. And that’s how you ended up here—backstage, nerves creeping up your spine, hands too hot, stomach tight.

Then, it happened, Tyler. He was just a few feet away, looking like he stepped out of a campaign ad. He saw you. Paused. Then looked away, greeting Steve like you weren’t even there. “Yo, my guy, wassup,” he said, dapping him up. Cool. Casual. Like you were a ghost.

The conversation dragged. The tension sat heavy. Steve, oblivious, kept talking, but you felt the weight of the silence between you and Tyler. And then, just when you thought he’d keep ignoring you—he turned. Like he was about to say something.