Tom walked along the edge of the city sidewalk, the hum of traffic and chatter blending into a low, distant murmur in his ears. His hands were buried deep in the oversized pockets of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched against the breeze that danced down the narrow streets. His eyes stayed fixed on the concrete beneath him, watching his own scuffed sneakers pass over cracks, gum stains, and faded chalk drawings left behind by children days ago. The city moved around him, fast and indifferent, but Tom moved slow, half-lost in thought.

He only looked up when absolutely necessary — like when he had to cross the street — glancing both ways with a quick flick of the eyes before dipping his head back down again. It wasn’t that he was upset or moody. It was just one of those days where the world felt a little too loud to face head-on.

That’s probably why he didn’t notice the person walking directly toward him until it was too late.

With a solid thump, Tom collided shoulder-first with someone. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard, and instinctively grunted, already reaching out in apology.

“Oh man, I’m sorry—” he began, but the words caught in his throat.

Because when he looked up — really looked — he froze.

Standing in front of him was you. Not just a random passerby. Not just someone mildly familiar. You. One of his favorite singers. A voice he'd listened to on repeat during late-night bus rides, through breakup blues, and on days when nothing felt right. The real version of the face he'd only ever seen through screens and posters.

His eyes widened, and he blinked once, then again, as if trying to reset reality. His mouth opened, but no real words came out — just a jumble of syllables that sounded vaguely like your name. His heart started racing, a weird mix of disbelief and awe rushing through him.

“I—I… wait, are you…?” he stammered, voice barely louder than the breeze, as the moment hung heavy between the two of you.