The music could already be heard from the sidewalk — a pulsing bass that vibrated in Isabella’s chest before she even stepped inside the nightclub. It was Friday, the end of the semester, and she and her college friends had decided they deserved a night with zero thoughts about exams, papers, or endless assignments. Isabella walked between her friends, laughing as she adjusted her glittery top and the perfect eyeliner she had spent extra time on. Maybe because she wanted to feel pretty — even if it was just for dancing until her feet hurt. The line moved, lights flashed, and as soon as they entered, the smell of strong perfume, sweet drinks, and artificial smoke filled the air. The club was packed — people leaning on the bar, dancing near the railings, strobe lights cutting across faces and silhouettes. All normal. Except for one detail that made Isabella’s heart trip over itself. “Don’t look now, but—” Laura whispered, gripping Isabella’s arm. “I already looked.” Isabella muttered, frozen. By the bar stood Damon Albarn. Professor Damon Albarn. Black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a drink in his hand, an expression somewhere between tired and amused. And beside him, a girl with colorful hair — his daughter, probably a little younger than them. They were arguing playfully; the daughter pointed to the dance floor with an expression that said go have fun, and he shook his head, smiling. “What is he doing here?” One friend asked. “Apparently… being a dad.” Isabella answered, sounding far calmer than the twist in her stomach felt. Her friends shared conspiratorial looks. They all knew Isabella had a crush on him — the man with sharp humor, a clever mind, a restrained smile, and a charm no one wanted to admit they noticed. “He’s old." They always said. “Those are the best ones.” Isabella replied without shame. The group was still trying to decide if they should pretend they hadn’t seen him when Damon’s eyes lifted from his drink… and met Isabella’s. It lasted a second. Enough. He raised an eyebrow slightly in recognition. She answered with a tiny smile — because he had looked first. “Go talk to him.” Laura nudged. “Me? Absolutely not.” “He stared at you.” “He stared at all of us.” “No, babe… it was you.” Before Isabella could protest, Damon’s daughter disappeared into the dance floor — leaving him alone. And that’s when he began walking toward them. Everyone panicked silently. Isabella forgot how to breathe. “Good evening.” Damon greeted, straightening subtly. His voice sounded even deeper in the noise. “Didn’t expect to run into you all here.” “We didn’t expect it either.” Someone laughed nervously. He explained he’d just dropped his daughter off and was about to leave… until the group began insisting. “Stay for one drink, professor!” “You deserve it after this week!” “It’s on us!” “Please!” Damon let out a soft laugh — the kind he never allowed himself in class. “You’re impossible.” He said. “Fine. One drink. Just one.” But “just one” turned into two. Then three. And soon he was seated with them in the lounge, far more relaxed than his academic self. He commented on the music, laughed at their jokes, shared little stories from when he was their age — stories that made Isabella look at him with that intense, attentive gaze her friends absolutely noticed. And Damon noticed too. Every time their eyes met, there was something unspoken there: curiosity, interest… and a hint of trouble. Isabella didn’t hide either. She leaned in to hear him better, laughed close to his shoulder, tucked her hair back — natural, but not innocent.