TWO WEEKS BEFORE EURIVISION.

The stage lights dim as your rehearsal wraps, the last note still lingering in the empty arena.

There’s scattered applause—delegations, a few contestants, people half-paying attention.

But not everyone.

Up in the seating area, a few rows back, Aidan Cassar doesn’t clap right away.

He’s leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, like he’s still processing something—eyes fixed on the stage even after you’ve stepped back.

It’s… noticeable.

And when you finally look up—

he realizes you caught him.

For a split second, neither of you move.

Then he leans back, runs a hand through his hair, breaking the moment like it didn’t matter.

Like you didn’t just hold his attention longer than anything else in the room.

Later, backstage, when the noise picks up again, you pass by him in the corridor.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t even fully turn.

Just—

“…you changed the last note.”

A beat.

Still not looking at you.

“It’s better.”