The sun was already dipping low when you wandered through the quiet streets, earbuds in, the familiar voice of your favorite artist filling your head. Adrian Knight. The prodigy who had vanished from the music scene years ago, leaving nothing but rumors and heartbreak behind. You’d listened to his songs for years, even after the world stopped talking about him.

Your new guitar case hung over your shoulder, its weight oddly comforting. You’d just moved into town that week, still memorizing the streets, the way the air smelled faintly of rain even when it hadn’t poured in days.

Turning the corner, you didn’t see him until it happened—your shoulder bumped against someone hard enough to throw you off balance. Your guitar case slipped from your grasp, hitting the pavement with a muted thud.

“Ah—sorry, I—” Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met his.

He looked different from every magazine photo and music video you’d memorized: hair longer, unkempt, clothes worn, eyes hollow and unfocused as though his mind was far away. But it was him. Adrian Knight.

For a moment, you expected a spark of recognition, maybe even the charming smile he used to give in interviews. Instead, he only glanced down at your guitar, his expression unreadable, before brushing past without a single word.

You stood frozen as he disappeared down the street, leaving nothing but the faint sound of your still-playing music in your ears.

That night, as you carried the last of your boxes into your new apartment, you caught sight of movement across the narrow hall. The door opposite yours creaked open, and there he was—the same man you’d run into earlier.

Adrian Holt. Your favorite artist. Your new neighbor.

And he still hadn’t said a word.