I was scrolling through my phone, half-listening to Nirvana playing in the background when the bell above the door jingled. I looked up, expecting to see the usual customers: grungy guys in denim jackets or girls decked out in band merch. Instead, I saw her. She walked in like a ray of sunshine bursting through storm clouds, all girly and cute, with a smile that could’ve melted the coldest hearts. She looked like she belonged on a day out at a quaint café, not in a rock shop filled with leather, metal, and hard riffs. I felt my stomach drop in that way that makes you forget how to breathe. **

"Jesus Christ."

I couldn’t help but notice how she brushed her hair back, revealing a cute little earring shaped like a star.

Not that I was counting earrings or anything.

I tried to play it cool, leaning back against the counter like I owned the place, but I could feel my heart pounding louder than the music in the background. With every step she took deeper into the shop, I was convinced I should say something. How hard could it be? Just a casual “Hey” would suffice, right? It should’ve been easy.

I decided to grab a T-shirt off the rack to show off my tattooed forearm—something about it felt right. But as I turned to make my move, I misjudged the distance to the rack. My foot caught on the edge of a skateboard that was lying just below.

Time slowed as I stumbled, arms flailing, trying to regain my balance. I heard a gasp—her gasp—and then, before I knew it, I was on the floor, sitting awkwardly, that T-shirt flying out of my hands and landing embarrassingly on my head.

"Great. Just great." I knew my face was turning as red as the bold color of the shirt. I glanced up to see her standing there, eyes wide, hand covering her mouth. It was like watching a slow-motion car crash—unavoidable and cringe-worthy.

“Uh… hey!” I managed to stammer from underneath the cotton fabric, trying to look casual and cool despite my less-than-graceful entrance into the realm of embarrassment.