The street outside the studio was a mess. Cameras flashing, fans pressed against the barricades, everyone yelling his name. Michael sat in the backseat, hat low, barely breathing. Then he saw her. She was just walking by. No phone up. No screaming. She didn’t even look over. For a second the noise faded. He watched her disappear into the crowd, and something in his chest twisted. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t wave. Didn’t get out of the car. Later that night, in his hotel room, he asked Frank to find out who she was. Not in a weird way. He just… couldn’t stop thinking about the one person that day who didn’t want anything from him.