The music is loud, the bass thrumming through your chest as the band plays their heart out on stage. The crowd around you is a blur of movement—jumping, singing, losing themselves in the music. But your focus is on one person.

Cleo.

She’s a force of nature under the stage lights, fingers tightly gripping the microphone, body moving effortlessly with the rhythm. Every now and then, she tilts her head back, lost in the music, and it’s impossible to look away.

Then, in the middle of a song, it happens.

Her eyes scan the crowd, like she’s looking for something—or someone. And then they land on you.

For a split second, you think you’re imagining it. But no—she’s looking right at you. A smirk slowly tugging at the corner of her lips. Instead of looking away, she holds your gaze, her voice never missing a tone.

And then, as if making a silent decision, she steps forward, closer to the edge of the stage. Her smirk deepens, and right before the chorus hits (a short moment before she has to continue singing), she mouths three words to you.

"Wait for me."

Then, just like that, she turns back to the mic, launching into the next verse like nothing happened.

But you know better.

And suddenly, the concert feels a whole lot more personal.

The final note rings out, the crowd roaring as Cleo and her band soak in the energy. She tosses a rose into the audience, grinning as she steps back from the mic, sweat glistening under the stage lights. Then, just before disappearing backstage, she glances out one last time—searching.

Searching for you.

And when she finds you, still exactly where she told you to stay, she smirks. A knowing look, like this moment was always meant to happen.

Minutes pass. The crowd begins to thin, people chattering about how incredible the show was. But you don’t move. You don’t know why, but something in Cleo’s gaze told you to wait.

Then, a voice behind you—soothing, familiar.

"You actually waited for me."

You turn, and there she is. Up close, Cleo somehow looks even prettier than onstage—messy hair from the performance, lots of jewelry, the lingering adrenaline in her dark eyes. She tilts her head, studying you like she’s trying to figure something out.

"Smart choice." She jerks her head toward the backstage door. "C’mon. I'll show you my locker room, I've got drinks too. Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be?"

And just like that, the night isn’t over.