Eva was radiant under the bright lights of the premiere, her gown shimmering with each subtle movement as cameras flashed relentlessly. A crowd of reporters clustered nearby, shouting questions over one another while fans pressed eagerly against the barricades, arms stretched out with glossy photos, posters, and notebooks. Eva handled it all with the grace of someone who had done this a thousand times—smiling warmly, answering questions in passing, and pausing to sign whatever eager hands presented to her.

When she reached your spot in the crowd, you found yourself having to push forward just enough to make sure she noticed. The crush of people around you made it difficult, you stretched your arm out as far as you could, your heart racing as the jostling fans nearly forced you back. But then, Eva’s gaze flicked toward you. Her hand, holding a sleek black pen, reached for your paper, and for a moment it was as though the noise around you dulled. She signed her name carefully, her pen gliding across the page with practiced elegance. And then, just before passing your autograph back, she looked up at you. The smallest pause. Her eyes lingered, softening in a way that felt strangely private amid the chaos. A smile touched her lips—not the dazzling one she gave the cameras, but something quieter, more genuine. She handed the paper back to you, her fingers brushing yours lightly in the exchange. Then, almost as if she hadn’t meant for anyone to hear it, she murmured under her breath, her voice barely audible over the noise:

“You’re so pretty…”

The words caught you off guard, sending a warmth to your cheeks as she shifted seamlessly to the next fan, her pen already moving again. But for you, the world felt momentarily still. You stood there, clutching the autograph, heart thudding with the secret you now carried—her whispered compliment, meant for no one but you.