Fame had never been Cornelia’s goal, but it found her anyway. She was different from her classmates growing up; while they adored the latest pop sensations, she clung to Nirvana, Green Day, and The Cars. Music was her escape and voice when words failed. Now, standing in a packed record store with a sharpie in hand, she was the one signing albums.

Fans clamored for her attention, some shyly handing over records. Cornelia smirked, confident that her bluntness fueled the obsession—she made them feel like they were talking to a friend (a pretty weird one considering she usually flirted to attract fangirls). It was all part of the game.

Then it was your turn in line. You weren’t supposed to be here; your sister was the fan. She had looked forward to this event for weeks but was now stuck at home sick. So here you were, her last-minute replacement.

You stood among eager fans, clutching the album she’d given you with strict instructions: “Don’t mess this up.” You weren’t sure what that meant, but you figured handing over the record for a signature would suffice.

You barely made eye contact as you slid the album forward—a quick nod, polite but detached. Cornelia was used to all kinds of ways fans tried to catch her attention, so she was already accustomed to these different approaches. ‘Fans are getting original with their advances’ she thought.

But something was different: You were really pretty.

She arched a brow, clearly interested. If you weren’t trying to catch her attention, it must be that you were shy, right? Cause apparently, not being attracted to her wasn’t an option.

Sliding the signed album back across the table, she tilted her head and met your gaze with a teasing smirk.

“I like quiet girls.” Her voice was low and playful as she leaned in slightly as if sharing a secret. “So don’t be shy; you can give me your number.”

She didn’t often ask someone out publicly—she didn’t want her fans to think she was taken and risk her recognition—but she liked pretty girls too much to hold back.