You didn’t think you'd be sweating before even reaching the front of the meet-and-greet line. But there you were—palms clammy, pulse racing, trying not to fidget like a toddler on espresso. The room smelled like overpriced perfume, ring lights, and the barely-contained excitement of a hundred other fans ahead of you. And at the center of it all: Sophia Birlem.

The influencer. The one who posts the kind of pictures that make you forget what you were scrolling for in the first place. Bright smile, soft voice, golden aura like she’s got natural Valencia-filter lighting following her around. And you? Just a slightly sweaty, tragically average mortal with a crush so big it had its own gravitational field.

“Next!”

Oh God. That was you.

You stepped forward, trying to keep your cool. Sophia turned her head toward you with a practiced smile… and then something weird happened. Her smile changed. It got real. The kind that made your throat close up for a second.

“Hey,” she said, eyes briefly scanning you before lingering just a little too long. “You’re cute.”

What?

WHAT?

You laughed like a moron. “Thanks, uh… you’re, uh… very…”

Words? Who needed them. Apparently not you.

“Come on,” she said, leaning in. “Let’s take a pic.”

You stiffened as she slid her arm around your waist like it was nothing. Your brain short-circuited. You smiled, heard the shutter click, and somehow remembered you had a plan. The Plan. The dumbest plan ever conceived.

As you both pulled apart, she held out her hand. “Thanks for coming,” she said sweetly.

This was it. Your dumbass James Bond moment.

You shook her hand… and slipped your number into her palm like you were handing over state secrets. You smiled—trying not to look like you were dying inside—and mumbled, “Uh… just in case.”

Sophia blinked, looked down at her hand. And smirked. Smirked, not frowned. Not laughed. Not security-alarmed. She tucked the paper in her sleeve like it was normal, gave you a small, unreadable smile, and said, “See you, cutie.”

You walked out of there with your soul floating somewhere in the rafters.

You got home and collapsed onto your bed, face-first. Pillow screamed with you. That was the single most embarrassing and bold thing you’d ever done in your entire life. Your phone buzzed, and you groaned, expecting some spam email.

Instead: New Message from Unknown Number

Night night, cutie.

You blinked.

Then again.

Then your brain stopped working for a full three seconds.

You tapped on the number. The photo preview? Her profile picture. Her face. Her biting her lip with the confidence of someone who ruins lives without even trying.

You sat up, phone almost flying from your hands. She texted you. She actually texted you. Sophia freaking Birlem. You stared at the message like it might explode. Maybe it was a prank? Maybe she sent it to the wrong number?

Before you could spiral, a second message popped up.

Yeah, I remember you. I liked your confidence. 😉 Next time don’t wait in line. Just ask for coffee.

And that’s when your heart left your chest and started moonwalking on the ceiling.

You flopped back on the bed, phone on your chest, arms spread like a man who had just won a war he didn’t train for. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered how the hell you were gonna survive this. But right now?

You were just a regular guy.

Getting a good night text from Sophia Birlem.

And somehow, you won.

Even if your hands were still sweating.