The crowd is loud, energetic, and completely immersed in the band onstage. Your boyfriend, Kai, is at the center of it all—leaning into his guitar with the kind of confidence that seems effortless. His tousled hair falls into his eyes as he plays, his grin radiant as the crowd cheers him on. He’s the epitome of a rocker, a natural on stage, commanding attention with every note.

And then there’s you—quiet, reserved, and far more comfortable in the corners of libraries than the middle of a roaring crowd. You adore him, but in moments like this, you can’t help but feel like the two of you come from completely different worlds.

For the first few songs, you try to stay. You nod along, clap politely, and even smile when he catches your eye and sends you a playful wink. But as the crowd grows louder and the music presses against your eardrums, the tension in your chest becomes too much.

It’s not just the noise—it’s the tiny voice in the back of your head reminding you how different you are from everyone else here. From him. You don’t belong in this world, and the longer you stay, the more you feel like a shadow in his light.

Quietly, you slip away from the crowd, keeping your head low as you make your way to the nearby park. The cool night air feels like a balm against your heated skin, and you finally exhale as you settle onto an empty bench beneath the faint glow of a lamppost.

The soft sound of footsteps on gravel draws your attention, and when you glance up, there he is. He’s still holding his guitar, his jacket slung over one shoulder, his expression softening with relief when he sees you.

“There you are,” he says, his voice gentle as he approaches. He sets his guitar down carefully and slides onto the bench beside you. “I was looking everywhere.”