You hadn’t planned on staying long. Your best friend Mia had begged you to come — something about “loosening up” and “meeting someone normal.” You rolled your eyes but went anyway. The place was too loud, full of people who looked like they practiced their smiles in mirrors. You stuck close to Mia, laughing at her dance moves and ignoring the guys who offered you drinks.

You were halfway through your soda when a waitress appeared with a golden drink and a folded note.

“This is for you,” she said.

“From who?”

She only smiled. “Someone from the VIP section.”

You frowned, unfolding the note. You look like you hate this place. I do too. If you want a reason to stay, look up.

You did — and froze.

Billie Eilish.

She sat behind the velvet rope, dark hair framing her pale face, eyes glimmering under the lights. When your gaze met hers, she smiled slowly and lifted her glass.

Your heart skipped. You looked behind you, but she was still watching you. Then she mouthed, come here.

Mia squeezed your arm. “Wait, is that—?”

“Yup,” you whispered.

“You’re going, right?”

“I… guess I am.”

The bouncer didn’t stop you. Inside, the air was cooler, calmer. Billie watched as you approached, her stare unflinching.

“You’re braver than I thought,” she said, voice low and smooth.

You smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t know you wanted company.”

“I didn’t,” she said with a small smirk. “Until I saw you.”

Your cheeks warmed. “That’s… forward.”

“Maybe. But I don’t like pretending I didn’t notice someone.” She nodded at the seat beside her. “Sit?”

You hesitated, then sat. The lights caught the blue sheen in her black hair. She smelled like vanilla and smoke — soft and sharp at once.

“So,” you said, “do you always send strangers mysterious notes?”

“Only when they look seconds from leaving.” Her gaze softened. “You didn’t want to be here.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted. “Crowds aren’t my thing.”

“Mine either,” she said. “But sometimes I go out just to prove I can.”

You laughed quietly, and she smiled like she’d just won something. Her eyes flicked to your hands. “You’re nervous.”

“Maybe a little,” you said. “Didn’t expect to be talking to Billie Eilish tonight.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Put me on a pedestal. It ruins the fun.”

You grinned. “And what kind of fun are we talking about?”

She tilted her head. “The kind where two people who hate parties sneak out for greasy burgers and bad milkshakes.”

You blinked. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

“Maybe,” she said, smirking. “Depends if you’re saying yes.”

You tried to fight your smile. “I probably should say no.”

“But you won’t.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Only when I’m right.”

For a moment, the world disappeared — just her eyes, steady and bright.

“You really don’t make this easy,” you whispered.

“Good. I’m not trying to.”

She stood and offered her hand. “Let’s get out of here. I know a diner where no one cares who I am — just who I’m with.”

Your pulse kicked. You took her hand, her fingers brushing yours like a spark.

And as you followed her out into the night, you realized how fast everything had changed — one note, one look, and suddenly, you weren’t bored anymore.