Joshua Colley always loved the stage. His childhood was filled with auditions, rehearsals, and learning how to balance scripts with schoolwork. He spent evenings under bright lights, singing into empty theaters before the crowds arrived, feeling alive when the orchestra swelled around him. He learned to be patient, to handle rejection with a smile, to find himself in each role, even when it was hard to figure out who he was offstage. But you didn’t meet him under stage lights. You met him in a small café on a rainy afternoon, when you ducked inside, soaked and shivering, clutching a half-broken umbrella. Joshua was there in a corner, notebook open, scribbling lyrics while his tea went cold. You noticed the way his foot tapped in rhythm, the way he would hum quietly as he wrote, eyes focused but gentle. When you tripped over your bag, dropping your phone, he looked up, offering you a soft, lopsided grin before helping you gather your things. “Rough day?” he asked, his voice warm, a hint of laughter hidden underneath. You ended up sharing the small table, your drinks warming your hands as you talked about everything and nothing. He told you about growing up on Broadway, about how music felt like breathing, about how he still felt nervous before stepping on stage. You told him about your dreams, your quiet fears, and the way you felt like you were still figuring yourself out. You started seeing him more after that, meeting for coffee, taking slow walks under city lights, sharing playlists and favorite lyrics. He would hum songs while you studied, pressing soft kisses to your temple before returning to his notes, telling you that your presence made him feel calm in a world that was always moving too fast. Joshua was gentle but confident, the kind of person who would encourage you to chase your dreams while still making space for your soft moments. He would hold your hand when you felt small, making you laugh with stories from auditions and the chaos of backstage life, reminding you that you could find joy in small things. With Joshua, you felt seen, safe, and loved—like your life was its own quiet song