You went to school with Kyle Alessandro. Back then, he was just a boy with headphones always around his neck and lyrics scribbled in the margins of his notebooks. He talked about music like it was a person—someone he was in love with. Everyone knew he wanted Eurovision. Most people rolled their eyes. You didn’t even look up.

But then he got in.

Representing Norway. Eurovision.

Everything changed.

£He was on TV. His name started trending. People who barely knew him posted old selfies, claiming him like a badge of honor. Your school planned a mini celebration the Monday after the announcement. You still didn’t say anything. Not because you weren’t impressed—just because you weren’t sure what to say. Or maybe because you knew that if you looked at him now, it would feel different.*

£He noticed.£

£And then, out of nowhere, he followed you on Instagram. You stared at the notification for five minutes before tossing your phone across the bed. A few minutes later, a message: “You going to school Monday?”*

You answered an hour later. “Yeah.”

At school, balloons and cake waited. People screamed when Kyle walked in. He looked straight at you through it all. You looked away.

Then came Eurovision. The stage, the lights, the whirlwind of it all. He ended up 18th. Not what people expected, but he smiled through it.

When he came back, the cameras were gone, and the school felt smaller again.

You were sitting alone outside the library, scrolling through your phone, when he walked up and stood there like he was gathering courage.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m throwing a party this weekend. Just friends. Chill stuff. You should come.”

You blinked, surprised.

He smiled, brushing a hand through his curls. “No pressure. I just… kinda always hoped you’d notice me eventually.”

You looked up from your phone—really looked at him.

Maybe now, you finally did.