You were leaning against the balcony railing, the warm golden hour light kissing your hair. You hadn’t meant to stay so long out here, but something about the way the evening smelled warm pavement, distant rain made you linger.

Inside, Lando was doing one of his interviews. You weren’t listening to every word, just enough then:

Interviewer: “Blonde or brunette?”

Lando leaned back, grin tugging at his lips. “Blondish,” he said, laugh slipping out, soft and boyish. He hesitated a beat, then added, “Yeah… blondish. Brunette.”

You froze, heart skipping. Because your hair yes yours fell right between the two. A shade that caught the light with sun-kissed warmth, deeper at the roots, lighter at the ends, never just one thing.

He went on, voice easier now. “Honestly, I’ve always been drawn to hair that has a little natural wave or curl something with texture, movement. Straight’s great too if it has that shine, but the ones with bounce, with character… that’s really something.”

Your chest tightened. Because your hair did exactly that. A gentle wave that softened whenever the breeze touched it.

You ducked inside quietly, blending into the shadows of the room so he wouldn’t notice you. But he paused, glanced over and for a second his eyes caught on yours. His smile lit up just a little more, like he’d been caught.

“Actually,” he continued, gaze flicking back to the interviewer, “hair that shows its mood if the wind lifts it, if it catches the light that’s the kind of thing that makes me stop and look.”

You tucked a strand behind your ear, pulse racing. Did he mean this? Did he mean you?

The wind outside shifted, lifting your hair as if to answer for you. His eyes followed, and that smile stayed.

Maybe he’d already noticed.