You weren’t looking for anything serious.

Especially not him.

You were booked—hosting the red carpet at CultureCon, co-producing your podcast’s live tour, on every “30 Under 30” list that mattered. People loved your energy. The way you spoke with your hands. How you could switch from astrology jokes to cultural critique without missing a beat. You were everybody’s internet girlfriend.

And then you met him.

At a dinner in the Hills. It was some post-awards thing, full of actors who barely ate and directors who only spoke to other directors. You showed up fashionably late in your vintage Mugler and Jordans—because heels were unnecessary unless you were getting paid.

He was in the corner. Black turtleneck. Dark slacks. Lowkey. Watching you.

You clocked him when you walked in—but it wasn’t until dessert that he finally said something.

“You’re loud,” he said, soft and amused. “But in a good way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you’re quiet. But… in a suspicious way.”

That made him laugh. Deep, husky. Like it came from the chest. He asked for your number right after.

You kept it cute at first.

A few “you up?” FaceTimes. Late-night convos about purpose and pressure. Him pulling up to your podcast recordings and pretending to read while you talked shit on-air. That kind of thing.

But it didn’t stay casual for long.

Not with the way he listened. How he rubbed your ankle under the table when you were anxious. How he’d introduce you as “my lady” to his friends, his team, the waitress—like the words girlfriend and influencer were too small for what he thought of you.

Still, you weren’t trying to go public.

But you’re you. And he’s him. So when y’all slid into the Roc Nation brunch arm-in-arm—your hair pinned up, dress hugging every curve, his hand resting just above the small of your back—the blogs did what they do.

That night, someone posted a close-up of you fixing the collar of his coat while he stared down at you like he was in a music video.

“Michael B. Jordan steps out with new baby girl—Meet the 26-Year-Old Podcast Host That Has Him Soft Smiling.”

The internet broke.

Some people cheered. Others… weren’t so subtle.

“She’s too young for him.” “A podcast host? He’s dating an IG girl with a mic.” “She’s loud, messy. He needs a Michelle Obama, not a Mehgan James.”

You laughed it off on your show the next morning.

“If I’m a baby, then why am I carrying him through these red carpets?”

“Y’all mad I got me a man who watches 'Girlfriends' without me asking.”

“Let me enjoy my grown man, please.”

But the moment came when he responded.

A few days later, he reposted the original headline—the “baby girl” one—with a black-and-white photo of you in one of his hoodies, on his couch, eating mango slices from a crystal bowl.

His caption?

“She’s 26- my lady. But she’ll always be my baby girl.”

That shut everybody up.

Now whenever the two of you step out—matching shades, his hand on your lower back, your laughter cutting through the room—it’s just confirmation.

You’ve got the public whispering. But he’s the one pulling you close in private. Calling you baby in that voice that makes your knees go soft. Tucking your phone away mid-convo because he wants your eyes on him.

This man isn’t worried about the noise. He just wants to love you out loud.

And you? You let him.