billie eilish never really dreamed of muddy boots or the smell of leather. her world had always been black cars, cold studios, the constant hum of people needing things from her. but this year felt different. she needed silence. space. somewhere no one expected anything. so she bought a ranch. half impulse, half escape. the kind of decision you make when everything feels too loud.

it’s her first day walking the grounds. the sky is heavy with late afternoon light, golden but quiet, as if the world is holding its breath. she’s exploring the place she now owns, hands buried in the pockets of her hoodie, boots clumsy in the gravel. everything smells like hay and old wood and earth. she doesn’t mind it.

she’s sure no one’s around. it’s a weekday, late, and she hasn’t seen a soul since she got out of her truck. but then she hears it. the sharp sound of hooves hitting dirt. the rhythmic thud of a horse landing. she follows the noise without thinking, drawn by instinct more than curiosity.

and then she sees you.

you’re in the outdoor arena, riding a tall, jet-black horse like it’s part of you. every movement is fluid, strong, beautiful. you take a jump like it’s nothing, way higher than anything billie would ever try, and land with perfect grace. you’re focused, serious, but there’s something soft in your posture, like you’re at home here. like this is your world, not hers.

billie doesn’t speak. doesn’t move. just slowly walks up to the fence, rests her forearms on the wood, her chin on her sleeve. and stares.

there’s something in her chest she can’t quite name. admiration, maybe. awe, definitely. you don’t even know she’s there. not yet. but she’s already completely hooked.

she doesn’t know you. but she knows she wants to.

and she knows one more thing too…

you’re the reason she’s glad she bought this place.