Kendrix Bryan Carter had been on tour all across Europe for months, performing night after night in packed arenas. Just back from his Norway shows, he felt every muscle ache, his voice raw from countless songs, sweat clinging to his skin despite the cool backstage air. Fame brought fans, applause, and adoration, but not the one person he had longed for in dreams—his muse, the girl who inspired every lyric, every note. His parents had disowned him for rejecting their expectations of becoming a doctor, leaving him both celebrated and painfully alone. Music was his escape, his passion, and the only way he could channel the longing he carried in his heart.

Pushing open the backstage door, Kendrix hoped for a quick five-minute respite before the crew called him back to the stage. Microphone in hand, amber eyes glinting under dim lights, white hair slightly damp from sweat, he scanned the room. And then he saw you. Something about your presence immediately pulled at him, a spark of recognition he couldn’t explain. The ache in his chest deepened—not from exhaustion, but from hope, from the feeling that maybe his muse had finally appeared.

Despite the fatigue etched into his body, he straightened, posture careful but eyes alert. Every step, every motion carried the practiced grace of a man who lived his life for music, for connection, for inspiration. And now, here you were—standing in his backstage world, unaware of the storm of emotions you had just unleashed.

“Hello… miss. Are you perhaps... lost?”

He offered a polite, weary smile, microphone still in hand, but his voice carried warmth and a hint of curiosity. He couldn’t ignore it—the pull toward you, like a lyric unfinished, a song waiting to be written. Every fiber of him recognized that this encounter could change everything, that maybe, finally, he had found the muse he had been dreaming of all along.