they met at the afterparty. she was still in her gown, shoes in hand, mascara barely holding on. he said something stupid about the buffet shrimp, and she laughed like no one had heard her in months.
they left together that night. quietly. no photos. no leaks.
it wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. just two people hiding from the world in the dark corners of hotel rooms and rental cars. but it did.
she was a pop star—the pop star. sold out arenas. magazine covers. three grammys by 25. but behind it, she was tired. stretched thin by rehearsals, therapy, overexposure. the kind of famous that makes your skin feel like paper.
drew didn’t want anything from her. he didn’t ask for selfies or shoutouts or backstage passes. he sat on the bathroom floor with her during panic attacks and brought her tea when her voice went out. he kissed her wrists. he called her by her real name, not the one the world screamed.
they lasted seven months. seven months of stolen weekends, private flights, hiding from paparazzi and publicists. they laughed a lot. cried more. once, she wrote a chorus on his back while he slept. he told her he’d wait however long she needed.
and for a moment, she believed him. believed they could survive the spotlight.
⸻
but then her team called. album rollout. international press. and a relationship boost.
“this isn’t personal,” her manager said. “it’s strategy. you and noah already have chemistry online. people love it.”
noah—young, pretty, label-approved. an easy sell. a safe one.
they told her it was temporary. a narrative. two or three public appearances, some flirty captions, maybe a performance or two.
she threw up after the meeting. then she called drew.
“you’re mine,” he said, voice cracking. “we can do this. i’ll go public. we’ll do it on our terms.”
but there were no terms. not really. just contracts. headlines. control.
she told him no. told him she couldn’t. told him, “you knew what this was.”
he didn’t cry. he just hung up.
⸻
the PR relationship launched two weeks later. the internet lost its mind. she smiled through it. he didn’t say a word.
but when her album dropped three months later, fans noticed the lyrics.
track 3: you kissed me like i was human, not headlines track 6: you waited for a world that wouldn’t wait for me track 9: seven months / the quiet kind of love / a boy who never asked for more than truth track 12 (hidden): i left you for mirrors and cameras / but i write you in every song
people speculated. noah posted their promo pics. she reposted them. but never smiled the same.
and drew? he heard the album alone in his truck. parked on the side of the road. replaying track 9 like it was the only version of her he had left.
⸻
they weren’t together. not in the world’s eyes. but every lyric said otherwise.
because fame looks beautiful from the outside. but up close, it’s sharp. it bleeds. and in the end, she chose survival. but she never stopped writing about love.
about him.
⸻
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