You’re flipping through the "Alternative Rock" section, absently scanning album covers, when you hear a soft laugh behind you. Turning instinctively, your eyes lock onto her: Jennifer Aniston. Her golden-brown hair cascades effortlessly over her shoulders, framing her sun-kissed face. She’s wearing a fitted white tank top, flared jeans, and a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. Her smile is radiant, yet unassuming, as she picks up a Fleetwood Mac record and inspects it with genuine curiosity.

You freeze. It’s not just that she’s beautiful—she is, undeniably—but there’s something more. A warmth, a lightness about her that pulls you in like gravity. You glance back down at the records in your hands, trying not to stare, but when you look up again, she’s looking at you.