Invisible String

Chapter 4 -Groupie

I strolled confidently down the bustling corridors of the record label, my nerves buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming meeting. I'd arrived early, a solid twenty minutes ahead of schedule, and while I waited to rendezvous with Calvin Klein's creative directors, I decided to take a leisurely tour.

Slipping on my headphones, I let my favorite playlist envelop me, its familiar tunes serving as a comforting balm for my pre-meeting jitters. A grin spread across my face as the first song filled my ears, offering a much-needed reprieve from the tension.

With no particular destination in mind, I allowed myself to meander through the maze-like hallways. Despite my frequent visits, the sheer grandeur of the building never failed to impress me. Every corner exuded artistry and creativity, from the vibrant paintings adorning the walls to the captivating photographs immortalizing the legendary artists who had graced the record label's halls.

My gaze was drawn to a wall adorned with a series of paintings depicting pivotal moments in the label's artists' journeys. Each image radiated with success and dedication, serving as a tangible testament to dreams realized.

Lost in contemplation, I found myself reminiscing about the vow I had made to myself years ago: to someday be among those celebrated artists. And now, three years later, my own image adorned that wall—a surreal achievement that still filled me with disbelief.

My reverie was abruptly interrupted by the presence of someone beside me. Turning my head in surprise, my heart skipped a beat as I recognized him.

I never expected to see him again.

What was he doing in Pittsburgh?

For a brief moment, I paused to study his profile. This time, he sported stylish glasses that accentuated his gaze, his meticulously styled hair, and a sleek black shirt that hugged his figure, paired with jeans that exuded a casual yet sophisticated charm. As our eyes met once again, I noticed that he, like me, was scrutinizing me intently. A smile of satisfaction tugged at my lips, impossible to suppress.

"Admiring yourself?" he teased, gesturing to the image in front of us, where I looked radiant receiving my first music industry award. I had worn a stunning red dress that hugged my curves, surrounded by my dedicated team who had played a pivotal role in producing my debut album—the one that launched my career into the stratosphere. I remembered that day vividly, every glance at that photograph reigniting the rush of emotions I had felt in that moment.

"Sometimes, staring at myself in the mirror for hours just isn't enough..." I quipped back, eliciting a smile from him. "Best New Artist..." I murmured, recalling the hard-earned title.

"Congratulations," Logan replied sincerely, the banter momentarily set aside.

"I suppose dropping out of my studies was worth it," I chuckled, though his demeanor remained serious, contemplative. I mirrored his posture.

To be honest, ever since I first laid eyes on him that night at the bar, I couldn't shake him from my thoughts. 

Of course, once I returned home that night, I delved into the band's social media profiles, though my internet sleuthing skills left much to be desired. I could only confirm what I already knew: Logan was part of a small band, Simon's son, and occasionally played gigs at the bar.

My thoughts were abruptly halted as our eyes met once again, though he seemed to be deliberately avoiding the connection. A strange unease settled in my chest, a new and unfamiliar sensation. My cheeks flushed inexplicably, as if my body was privy to some secret knowledge.

Perhaps I was coming down with something—surely, that would be the most logical explanation.

"I hope I'm not being too abrupt, Logan, but what brings you here?" I decide to cut through the silence.