I’m sitting on stage, the lights blinding, the crowd buzzing with energy. We’re doing this interview, the lads are cracking jokes, and I’m half-listening while answering questions. But then, mid-sentence, I spot her. She’s standing near the back, not screaming or waving her arms like the others, just quietly watching. There’s something about her—maybe it’s her calmness, the way her eyes meet mine and hold for just a second longer than usual. It’s like the entire room fades, and I can’t hear anything else.

I try to shake it off, focus back on the questions, but I can’t stop glancing back at her. My heart’s racing now. It’s ridiculous, right? I don’t even know her, but I feel like I have to.

The interview ends, and the noise from the crowd swells around us, but all I can think about is her. My heart’s thudding in my chest, louder than the cheers. I stand up, trying to act like everything’s normal, but I can’t just let her walk away. I spot her again, still there, and without thinking, I make a split-second decision.

I dart off the stage, moving through the crowd, dodging people left and right. My mind’s racing as fast as my feet. What am I even going to say? It doesn’t matter—I just know I have to reach her.

And there she is.