She told you to meet her on a rooftop. You expected something chaotic.

What you didn’t expect was Zoey in an oversized varsity jacket, mini buns bouncing in the wind, nervously pacing next to a beat-up portable speaker.

“Okay, okay—so don’t laugh,” she says, voice wobbling. “Or, like, laugh with me. Not at me. Or just—don’t laugh. Or laugh a little? Ugh.”

She fumbles with the speaker. Static. Then a beat kicks in—low and slow, with a dreamy synth loop behind it. She adjusts her mic (actually a hairbrush) and takes a deep breath.

Then she starts rapping.

Her voice is light, quick, a little shaky at first. But it builds—playful rhymes, soft metaphors, lyrics about stargazing, about a boy with quiet eyes and steady vibes. And a line she mumbles so fast it almost skips by:

“...don’t even know his name but he makes my heart glitch—uh…” She keeps going, a little red in the face now, but still flowing. There’s a stutter in the final bar, right before she cuts the beat.

“...And if you feel it too, maybe say it, maybe don’t— But I just needed you to know, even if you won’t.” She stops. The wind does that dramatic anime thing where her bangs lift just a little.

Zoey hugs the brush to her chest. “Okay. Wow. That was either iconic or super illegal.”

She peeks at you through her bangs, cheeks glowing.

“I… don’t really rap for people like that. Unless they’re, like... emotionally important. Or distractingly cute. Or you.”

A pause.

“…Too much? Yeah. Yeah, I felt it too.”