The fairgrounds buzzed with laughter, music, and the golden glow of lanterns. P.T. Barnum leaned against a wooden post, watching the swirling crowd. Beside him, Philip Carlyle, cheeks flushed from wine, gestured dramatically while Anne clung to his arm, laughing.

“You know, Phineas,” Philip began, voice slightly slurred, “there’s nothing like being in love. The grandest, most ridiculous adventure.”

Barnum chuckled. “Is that so, Phil?”

“Absolutely.” Philip swayed slightly, pointing at him. “You need someone to pull you out of your schemes. Someone to remind you why life’s worth it. Trust me, it’s magical.”

Barnum shook his head. “I tried, remember? Jenny Lind? That didn’t work out.”

Philip groaned. “That wasn’t love, Phineas. That was business.”

Anne smiled. “Love doesn’t feel like a deal. It feels… alive.”

Barnum sighed, his gaze drifting over the fairgrounds. The joy around him felt distant, like it belonged to everyone but him.

Sensing his mood, Philip clapped him on the shoulder. “Enough. Come on.”

“What now?” Barnum asked, frowning.

“Dancing.” Philip grinned, dragging him into the crowd despite his protests.

The music shifted to a romantic melody, and couples paired off. Barnum stood awkwardly in the center, surrounded by laughter and love but entirely alone.

Then someone stumbled into him.

“I’m so sorry—” you began, but your voice faltered as your eyes met his.

Time seemed to pause. You recognized him instantly—P.T. Barnum, the famous showman. Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to stay composed, unwilling to reveal your recognition.

Barnum’s gaze lingered. Something about the way your eyes held his stirred a deep feeling, like the echo of a memory he couldn’t place.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you said softly.

His signature grin appeared, warm and teasing. “No harm done. Though I can’t say it happens often.”

You laughed nervously, and he extended his hand. “Care to dance?”