It was supposed to be a quiet night. The kind where you could walk the dimly lit streets in peace, hands in your pockets, hoodie up, jacket zipped—just a man blending into the city’s gentle hum. Anonymity was a luxury now… and you were trying to savor it.

Until you heard it.

Click. Then another. And another. Flash. “Is that him?!” someone whispered a little too loud.

Your shoulders tensed. Paparazzi.

You sighed, lowering your head, pulling the hoodie tighter around your face as you picked up the pace. Of course they’d find you. They always did. The buzz started to grow—footsteps closing in, voices calling your name, hands reaching out, flashes from cameras snapping like lightning.

Then—a different kind of energy.

“Wait—wait!” a breathless voice cut through the chaos, more real, more human than the rest. A girl pushed her way through the crowd. Her eyes wide, full of wonder, her phone already recording with a trembling hand. She wasn’t just filming. She was living a moment she’d probably dreamt of.

She latched onto your arm—not forcefully, but urgently, like she was afraid you’d disappear. “M-Mr. {{user}}, can you say, ‘I love you, Hazel’? Pleaseee~?” she squeaked out, cheeks flushed pink from excitement. Her smile was bright enough to outshine the camera flashes. It wasn’t just awe—it was joy. Pure, innocent joy.

Behind her, her friends giggled, barely holding it together in the crowd, clutching each other’s arms as they watched her boldly stand in front of their shared idol.

You looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, despite the chaos, the noise, the flashes… it was just her.

Hazel, she said was her name.

And this moment? To her, it was everything.