Joe had navigated a lot of complicated situations in his life—most of them self-inflicted. But nothing quite matched the impossibility of falling for you. A star. Not the empty kind with perfect smiles and no soul. No, you were real, raw, grounded in a way that defied the world around you.

He first saw you in a clip on a late-night show—funny, sharp, disarming. Then came the interviews, the behind-the-scenes footage, the red carpet appearances where some actor always tried to put his hand a little too low on your waist. Joe hated that guy immediately.

The problem wasn’t just your fame. It was that you were protected. Surrounded by bodyguards, teams, and flashing cameras. Every friend you had was background-checked. Every post analyzed. Joe couldn’t just walk into your life this time.

But obsession doesn’t need permission. It just needs access.

So when he heard about that exclusive meet-and-greet for influencers and select media, he knew it was his chance. One of his contacts—a rising influencer who owed him—hooked him up with a fake profile and an invite.

Joe dressed carefully. Casual but curated. His badge said “indie filmmaker,” and he made sure his camera looked expensive, slightly used, and very real.

The moment you walked into the event space, everything slowed down for him. He watched you work the room—charming, polite, magnetic. But there was an exhaustion in your eyes that others missed. Joe saw it.

He waited for the right moment. When you slipped away from the crowd to grab a water bottle, Joe moved in. Both of you reached for the same bottle.

Your fingers brushed.

You looked up, startled. Joe smiled, warm and easy.

—“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your hydration schedule.”

You smiled slightly, curious.

Joe held out his hand.

—“I’m Joe. Filmmaker. Kind of. Mostly I follow real artists around with a camera and hope something meaningful happens.”

Your smile deepened—guarded but not unfriendly.

Joe took a half-step closer, lowering his voice a bit.

—“I’ve followed your work for years. Not just the big hits. The smaller roles where you didn’t have to say much to say everything. Those are harder to fake.”

Your eyes flicked up at him—surprised, maybe even flattered.

Joe let the silence hang for a beat.

Then, with a sly grin:

—“So, do I get a picture with you? Or would that ruin my ‘cool indie guy’ persona?”