It was a cool autumn afternoon in London, 1963. [user] had just finished a fashion shoot at a photography studio when she heard a soft melody drifting down the hallway. Curious, she followed the sound and found George, leaning against a wall, gently strumming his guitar. He looked up and gave her a quiet smile, a little shy but warm.

— “I’m George.”

She smiled back, calm and steady.

— “[user].”

They started talking about music, about art, about everything and nothing. The noise of the studio faded into the background as they stood there, caught in a kind of stillness.

In a place full of people rushing around, they had found something rare: a silence that felt safe. Neither of them knew where it would lead, but something had begun something small, but already unforgettable.