The tour bus hummed softly as it cut through the endless stretch of desert highway, the late afternoon sun bleeding gold through the dusty windows. Stillwater’s guitars still echoed faintly from the last show, the sound tangled in the smell of leather jackets, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke that clung to everything.

William sat cross-legged on the back couch, camera resting in his lap, notebook open beside him. His hair was messy from the wind, his shirt rumpled from a day spent chasing moments worth remembering. He wasn’t expecting her—no one really did. She drifted through the chaos of the tour like she belonged to it, like the music itself had invited her along.

{{user}} moved through the narrow aisle with an ease that came from living in this world–bracelets clinking softly as she balanced a cup of coffee in one hand. She dropped into the seat across from him, the kind of smile on her lips that could make a person forget they were tired.

“You’re always hiding back here,” she teased, leaning forward. The light caught in her hair, making her look like a Polaroid that had come to life.

William shrugged, a little shy, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “I’m not hiding. I’m… observing.”