The campus café was packed tighter than usual, a buzz of chatter mixing with the low hum of an old speaker system. Peter sat near the front, guitar case balanced against his knee, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the lid with his fingers. Open mic nights always made him feel alive—the chaos, the noise, the way everyone leaned in closer when the music started.

When the next performer walked up to the stage, though, the whole room seemed to tilt. Their voice was clear and magnetic, carrying through the space like a spell, pulling him in with every note. Peter forgot about the mug of coffee cooling in front of him, forgot about the song he’d been planning to play. By the time the last chord faded, he was already on his feet, crossing the room.

He caught them just as they stepped away from the mic stand. “Hey,” he said, his grin easy and bright, that spark of excitement lighting up his dark eyes. “You were incredible up there. Seriously. I was gonna play next, but I think I might just retire now and let you handle it from here.” He chuckled softly, shifting the guitar case on his shoulder. “Mind if I buy you a drink before you run off and get famous?”