It started as a joke.

Scrolling late at night, you saw the trend — people stitching glow-ups, pairing them with that Sabrina Carpenter song. A few seconds of old photos, then the cut to now. It was harmless, funny.

Except when you thought of him.

Timothée, awkward and lanky in the hallways of your high school, baggy hoodie, bitten nails, sketchbook tucked under his arm. The boy you’d kissed behind the bleachers, the boy you’d loved when no one else was looking.

So you did it. A blurry selfie of the two of you at seventeen, your eyeliner smudged and his curls too short, both of you laughing into the lens. Then the cut — one of those clips of him at Cannes, sharp suit, sharp jaw, the world screaming his name. When did you get hot?

You didn’t expect it to blow up. Millions of views, your notifications drowning in strangers gasping about the “girl who dated Timothée Chalamet in high school.” Your DMs were a war zone.

And then — the text.

Unknown Number: Saw your video.

Your heart stopped.

Unknown Number: When did YOU get hot?

The profile picture popped up a second later. Him. Unmistakable.

You sat on your bed, phone burning in your hand, a thousand thoughts crashing at once. It had been years. Whole lives lived since then. And yet here he was, the same boy, just dressed in fame now.

Before you could overthink it, another message came through:

Coffee? No cameras. Just us.