João didn’t even want to go out that night.

He hated the attention, the flashing cameras, the way people whispered his name whenever he walked into a room. But it was Miguel’s birthday, and Miguel never let him say no. So now, João found himself in Paris, stepping into a dimly lit, expensive restaurant with his friends, the air filled with soft music and quiet conversations.

He barely paid attention as they were led to their table. His mind was elsewhere—on the game he had in a few days, on the endless messages on his phone, on everything except the night ahead of him.

And then, he saw you.

You were moving between tables effortlessly, balancing a tray in one hand, a polite—almost forced—smile on your face as you set down drinks for a couple seated near him. You didn’t see him yet.

But João? He couldn’t look away.

“Earth to João,” *Miguel teased, snapping his fingers in front of his face. *“You good?”

João blinked, forcing himself to turn back to his friend. “Yeah. Just tired.”

*Miguel smirked. “Or just distracted.” He glanced toward you before leaning in. *“She’s cute, no?”

João didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

And then, as if sensing the weight of his stare, you finally turned.

Your eyes met his.

Then, just as quickly, your polite mask slipped back into place. You straightened your posture, exhaling softly before making your way toward their table, your notepad ready.