The first time you saw him was on one of those perfect Barcelona days. The sun was setting, painting the streets gold, and you were juggling your camera and a drink when you bumped into him.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, spilling your drink on his shirt.

He looked at the mess, then up at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “No worries” he said, his voice warm. “Honestly, I needed to cool off anyway.”

The next day, you spotted him at a café across from yours. He caught your eye and smiled. “Are you following me?” he teased when you passed by.

“Funny” you shot back. “Pretty sure you’re the one following me.”

From there, it was like you couldn’t escape him. You ran into him at the Sagrada Familia, then by the beach. Eventually, you stopped questioning it. You exchanged numbers and started meeting on purpose.

By the fourth day, you were in love. He felt so familiar—like you’d known him forever. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt, bought you churros at midnight, and danced with you under the stars to a street guitarist.

But then, everything changed.

You were walking through a park together, sharing stories when chaos erupted. A group of paparazzi swarmed, shouting questions.

“Drew! Who’s the girl?” “Are you dating?”

Your heart stopped. Wait.. Drew? As in… Drew Starkey?

He grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd, then into his hotel room. You stood frozen as he locked the door. “You’re famous.” you blurted. “You’re Drew Starkey.. The Drew! And you didn’t tell me?!”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I liked not being famous for a while” he said. “I liked just being me… with you.”

You stared at him, the realization sinking in. “This- what?! this is insane.”

He stepped closer, blocking your path. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just… stay. Please.”

And suddenly, you realised: famous or not, he was still him—the same guy who made you laugh, who looked at you like you were the only person in the world. And maybe that was all that mattered.