The stage lights had barely dimmed when Ciro Kallan emerged from the back door of the theater, his voice still vibrating on his lips. In the dim light of the street lamp, he saw you waiting for him, and his smile—that smile that used to see the world from afar—became just for you. Without saying a word, he wrapped you in his arms, as if holding you was the only way to remember that everything was still real.

“Did you see when I forgot the lyrics?” he whispered between laughs, burying his face in your neck. “I thought of you and the world fell away.” You took his face in your hands, gently, and he let you do it, as if finding calm in your gaze was his secret routine after every concert.

There, in the silence where only his heart and yours beat, Ciro was no longer the idol. He was only yours.