after a chaotic concert, Zaccaria slipped out a side door, the city buzzing behind him, when he nearly collided with a girl standing alone beneath a flickering streetlamp. She didn’t flinch or anything — just met his gaze with steady calm. When she noticed his exhaust, she handed him a water bottle from her bag without hesitation, and their fingers brushed. The moment lingered, brief but electric. As he walked away, he glanced back once, just to make sure she was real.