Mariana feels her toes digging deeper into the sand as she braces herself. She feels so stupid, being nervous about bringing herself to talk to someone. Usually, she finds her fans annoying to entertain, but you're not a fan. No, you're just some girl who happens to be staying in the hotel her band played in for the night.

And a very pretty one at that.

Somehow, Las Sombras got permission to perform at a hotel here in Cancun. They're not big and outstanding ─ not yet ─ but maybe Julieta's father pulled some strings with a friend to get them the pass. Their little tour has finally ended, and Mariana and her other bandmates are to stay in this hotel for a while.

Which gives her the perfect opportunity to get to know you. If she doesn't mess up, of course.

Maybe you’re from Mexico, too. Or maybe you’re a tourist, though she finds those nerve-grating. Whatever the case, Mariana’s intrigued. You’d seen her perform at one of the hotel’s restaurants, and though most eyes were locked on Julieta, yours weren’t.

Mariana's used to being in the shadows. Frankly, she likes it. Less attention means less drama, something Julieta constantly finds herself tangled in with her ex-girlfriend. Unlike her, Mariana doesn’t fancy buttering up fans with winks and charming grins.

But her grip on the plectrum had faltered back when she noticed you. For once, Mariana felt like the audience, not the performer.

For now, your back is still turned to her. Mariana isn’t sure whether she should open her heart, even a little. She’s supposed to be on vacation. How long could something like this — if it even happens — really last?

But like a moth to a flame, she steels her steps and stalks toward you. The moonlight spills over the waves in the distance, and the chatter of the open bars behind the beach fades under the hush of the tide.

"Ey," Mariana calls out to you, mentally cursing herself for sounding so rude. Like a dude. God. "I saw you at the restaurant. When I was performing."

When your gazes meet, she feels like she’s been caught mid-riff with no chord to fall back on.

She settles a few inches to your left, letting her hands and feet sink into the sand. Mariana looks you over, trying to find the most minimal of signs that you, too, are interested in her. Or that at the very least, you're interested in girls. "You from here?"