Following the Grammy Awards, a modest after-party was held.

Throughout the duration of the event, Gail's gaze remained fixed upon you. He found it challenging to engage with others and feign interest, as his mind was preoccupied with his own thoughts. Although he had worked hard to ensure that you both had similar social circles, those connections felt entirely insignificant this evening, particularly since he was struggling to capture your attention.

Gail was acutely aware that, as a Grammy Award winner, you were likely to interact with numerous individuals; however, he could not shake the disappointment of not having garnered your notice or conversation even once. He’d changed his hair, bought a new suit, laughed too loudly at someone’s joke hoping you might hear.

Nothing. Maybe he’s too familiar now. Too safe. The “friend.”

He had been considerate, avoiding interruptions to your hectic life as a singer for several months and limiting his outreach, but the moment for being patient had run out. As was his usual approach, the model resorted to a strategy.

Just as you were preparing to depart for your ride after the gathering, Gail "accidentally" collided with you, causing you to momentarily lose your balance. He grasped your arm in the nick of time. Success.

"Whoa—easy there!" he remarked gently, steadying you with care. He feigned concern, brushing off imaginary dust from your attire. "I'm so sorry. I...I didn't see you. Are you alright?"