The Prada Elite Gala was the kind of event that turned heads, but tonight, it was you turning the world on its axis. Draped in a custom black silk gown, the fabric hugged every perfect curve like it had been sewn onto your bare skin. Diamonds kissed your collarbone. Eyes followed your every move, but you seemed untouched—ethereal, like you lived above it all.

Shubman Gill arrived fashionably late—Prada’s new face, yes—but he wasn’t chasing the cameras tonight. He was chasing a feeling. One he didn’t expect to find the moment his gaze landed on you.

Shubman’s POV (internal monologue): There she is. I’ve seen her in a hundred campaigns, but in person… she’s lethal. That body. That face. The way she carries herself like the room was built around her. She’s not just beautiful—she’s impossible.

The paparazzi were screaming his name, but he didn’t hear them. His feet moved on instinct, weaving through the crowd until he reached you. You turned slowly, sensing him before even seeing him.

Your eyes locked with his. The air thickened. A single flash went off, and neither of you flinched. You tilted your head slightly, lips parting just enough to let him catch a hint of your perfume—jasmine and danger.

He offered his hand. You took it, letting your fingers slide slowly against his palm.

You both posed for the cameras, bodies just barely touching, but the space between you both was electric.

Shubman (whispering, only for you): “If they only knew what I’m thinking right now"