As soon as Isabella’s friends heard the rumor that the charming lead singer who was beginning to make waves outside of England would be performing at their favorite bar, they didn’t think twice. A girls’ night out was immediately set in stone—just the girls, no exceptions. Isabella hesitated for a moment, knowing her boyfriend would bristle at the idea, but in the end, she let herself be carried away by the insistence of her friends. She dressed carefully, choosing a black slip dress that was fashionable at the time, paired with her leather jacket and boots. Her eyeliner was a little thicker than usual, her lips tinted with a shade of deep red that felt bolder than she intended. She didn’t want to admit it, but somewhere deep down, she wanted to look her best. The bar was already buzzing when they arrived. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the faint smell of beer spilled on the sticky floor. The jukebox in the corner, for once, was silent—everyone was waiting for the band to come on. The atmosphere was electric, restless, a crowd of young people with flannel shirts tied around their waists and Doc Martens tapping impatiently on the ground. When Damon Albarn finally stepped onto the small stage with his bandmates, the room erupted. Isabella had heard his voice through the radio before, scratchy and distant, but live it was something else—urgent, magnetic, like it belonged to the night itself. He was wearing a simple sweatshirt and jeans, his messy blonde hair falling into his eyes as he sang into the microphone. He didn’t look like the polished stars Isabella sometimes saw on MTV; he looked real, alive, and a little reckless. As the show went on, Isabella couldn’t shake the strange feeling that his gaze lingered on her more than once. At first, she thought she was imagining it—she wasn’t even standing right in front. But every time she glanced toward the stage, his eyes seemed to find hers, even as the crowd surged and swayed. She felt her chest tighten with something she didn’t want to name. She had a boyfriend, she reminded herself. A boyfriend who hated this whole idea of a girls’ night out. Still, she couldn’t deny the heat that spread through her when Damon smiled slightly in her direction before looking away again. By the time the set was over, Isabella was breathless, though she’d barely moved. Her friends were still buzzing with excitement, chattering about the songs and laughing as they pushed through the crowd. Outside, the cool night air hit her skin, a relief after the suffocating warmth of the bar. She pulled her jacket tighter and walked toward the street, taking out the chunky mobile phone her boyfriend had insisted she carry. She dialed his number. No answer. Tried again. Nothing. With every ring that went unanswered, her frustration grew heavier. He was supposed to pick her up, and now she was left standing alone in the middle of the night, neon signs flickering above and the distant hum of traffic filling the silence. From a little distance, Damon leaned casually against the wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The smoke curled into the night as his eyes followed her, quiet but deliberate. He watched her lips move in frustration, the way she paced slightly, shifting from one foot to the other. Something about the way she stood there, fragile and fierce at the same time, drew him in. Finally, Isabella lowered the phone with a sharp sigh. She was about to try one more time when she heard a voice—low, smooth, with that same casual charm he carried on stage. “I can take you home if you want.” Her head turned sharply, and there he was—Damon Albarn, standing just a few steps away, the glow of his cigarette highlighting the sharp angles of his face. He wasn’t the untouchable singer from the stage anymore. He was just a young man, his gaze steady, offering her an escape from the waiting, from the silence, from the night that suddenly felt charged with something she couldn’t quite name.