yours sincerely, daisy. - taylor swift

04

Daisy made her way back down the aisle, her pulse still steady from the high of being on stage. As she approached her seat, she couldn't help but notice the familiar figure sitting just in front of her—Taylor Swift. The Taylor Swift. It was impossible not to be aware of her presence, even if they hadn't exchanged more than a few obligatory words when Daisy first arrived.

Daisy wasn't starstruck; she'd been around enough celebrities to keep her cool. But there was something unsettling about how present Taylor seemed to be in her peripheral vision tonight, as if the universe had conspired to seat them in such close proximity. They knew nothing of each other beyond what any headline or tabloid could tell, and yet here they were—one Grammy invite away from the same orbit.

She slid into her seat next to Dylan, trying not to seem like she was avoiding looking directly at Taylor. It wasn't personal—Daisy just wasn't sure what to make of her yet. Taylor's presence loomed large, and Daisy wasn't naive enough to believe all the public praise or the curated image that was constantly thrown at her through the media. Fame had a way of distorting reality.

"Smooth delivery," Dylan murmured beside her. "Didn't look nervous at all."

Daisy shrugged, leaning back into her chair, eyes still forward. "I'm glad, I was literally shaking inside."

Dylan chuckled softly, his attention drifting toward the stage. Meanwhile, Daisy found herself glancing at the back of Taylor's head. The bright lights of the stage caught the sheen of her blonde hair, cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders, her posture impossibly straight. Taylor hadn't turned around yet, hadn't even acknowledged Daisy's return to her seat.

And maybe that was for the best.

The applause died down as the next presenter took the stage, but Daisy's thoughts were somewhere else, caught in the strange, almost eerie stillness between them. There was no reason for her to feel tense—Taylor was just another face in the crowd, another performer making the rounds in the industry. Yet, for some reason, her proximity made Daisy hyper-aware of herself.

A few moments passed, and then, as if sensing Daisy's quiet observation, Taylor shifted slightly in her seat, her head tilting just enough to glance over her shoulder. Their eyes met for the briefest second—no words, no recognition, just two professionals sitting in the same space.

Taylor's gaze was unreadable, cool, and detached. She offered the faintest of nods, an acknowledgment rather than a greeting, and then turned back around, her attention squarely on the show ahead.

Daisy blinked, feeling the hollow emptiness of the moment settle over her like a blanket. It was a small thing, but the indifference in Taylor's look tugged at something deep inside her. She wasn't sure what she had expected—certainly not warmth or familiarity. After all, they were practically strangers. They weren't here to be friends.

Still, the encounter left Daisy with a sour taste in her mouth, as if she had just been reminded of her place in this glittering, cutthroat world of fame. They were both names—brands, really—pulled together by circumstance, not choice. For now, that was all they were.