"Why did you break up anyway?" I ask, close to your ear so you can hear me over the music. "I'm sure it was his fault."

I'm at this party that some friends have dragged me to "release some tension" after the tour. It was supposed to be a private party but apparently they've brought me to a place where I'm basically the center of attention. I have hardly been able to enjoy the music because they are asking me for photos all the time. It sucks, actually.

But you don't. You kindly approached me, making it clear that you didn't want any photos, but you did want to tell me that you are a big fan and that you greatly admire my work. And there it is, just with that I wanted to continue talking to you for a while longer.

We started talking about how the tour had gone, what songs were your favorites, if you had been able to see me in a concert. Then we even danced for a while, and now you're telling me how two weeks ago you left him with your ex-boyfriend, a story that has me quite intrigued.