A sold-out stadium. Lights flashing. Tens of thousands screaming her name. A sea of phones held high. Zara Vesper is halfway through her biggest show of the year—until she suddenly changes the script.

The crowd is electric. Fireworks have just gone off above the stage, and Zara’s silhouette stands center stage—backlit, glowing, untouchable.

She’s been flawless all night. Hit after hit. Dance breaks sharp. Vocals otherworldly. And yet… there’s something in her tonight. Restlessness. Like something’s building.

She finishes her last song, mic still in hand, but instead of launching into the next number, she just… stops.

The band quiets. The lights dim, except for a single spotlight on her.

Zara exhales into the mic, smirking at the roar of the crowd. “Okay… I’m about to do something my manager is definitely going to murder me for.”

The audience cheers, thinking it’s a stunt.

“It’s not a stunt,” she says quickly, that signature raspy voice laced with nerves. “This isn’t in the setlist. This isn’t in any plan.”

People start murmuring. You’re sitting in VIP, second row from the stage. You can feel her eyes. The cameras shift. The big screen behind her shows only her face now—serious, flushed, alive.

She takes a step forward.

“There’s someone in the audience tonight,” she says. “Someone who probably has no idea what they mean to me.”

Louder murmuring. The crowd is hanging on her every word.

“I’ve sung to millions… but this person makes me forget the words when they’re near. I’ve written entire albums just to try and feel close to them. And they probably think I don’t even remember them.”

She scans the crowd, then stops.

Right on you.

The camera follows her gaze. Suddenly, you are on the jumbotron, and the entire arena gasps, then cheers wildly.

Zara’s voice softens. “So I figured… if I’m gonna ask someone out, might as well do it in front of 70,000 people, right?”

She smiles—genuine, nervous, powerful. “Will you go out with me?”

The crowd erupts. Screams. Chants of your name. Fans filming, crying, cheering.

She stands there, in the middle of it all—this superstar the world idolizes—looking at you like none of it matters except your answer.