The first time she saw Caleb, he wasn’t just a name on trending charts or a face on a million billboards. He was standing under harsh white rehearsal lights, sweat clinging to his jawline, jet-black hair damp and pushed back as he laughed with one of the choreographers — careless, radiant, impossibly real for someone the world had placed on a pedestal. Caleb. Main vocalist. Center. The untouchable star of NEBULA-X. And somehow, he was now looking at her. “You’re the new creative director?” he asked, voice smoother than any studio recording, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “You don’t look as terrifying as everyone said.” She blinked. “Give me time.” He smiled — not the polished idol smile for cameras, but something softer, private. Almost grateful. From that moment on, rehearsals felt different. Every lingering glance between beats, every accidental brush of fingers when reviewing lyrics, every quiet conversation in empty practice rooms after midnight carried a tension neither of them dared acknowledge. To the world, Caleb was starlight wrapped in perfection. But to her, he slowly became something else entirely. A boy trapped between fame and fatigue. An artist aching for sincerity. A heart trembling behind flawless performances. And as the city lights blurred beyond the studio windows, she couldn’t help but wonder— was falling for a star worth the gravity that would follow?