𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 → 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐢𝐢)

prologue [s]

friday,
march 7th, 2020
(2 years later...)

SHAWN MENDES

"Ready?" Andrew asks me and I nod confidently.

"Always."

Today, I'm being interviewed by People Magazine. I've been interviewed a ton over the past two years, since my career took off. The EP sold brilliantly, and is still selling to this day. I went on to drop a few lead singles in 2019 and eventually released my first album earlier this year in January. I sold millions of records in a short space of time, which I'm insanely proud of. Currently, I'm travelling North America, Canada and bits of Europe just for a couple of interviews. I also play a few small gigs here and there, and am set to play at the Summertime Ball in London in June. I am doing a festival run over the summer which I'm really looking forward to. My first world tour starts in August.

I've gained a huge fan base and following, and at first it was a massive shock. I had to switch from college mode to popstar mode in the matter of a few weeks. That was tough. I wasn't used to this lifestyle and to be honest, I'm still easing my way in. Sometimes it's hard going, I'm knackered a lot of the time. But I'm doing what I love and I couldn't be more grateful. I saw a lot of the world that I haven't seen before and I really enjoy performing and doing these little interviews.

As I'm staring out the window and watching New York whiz by, my phone pings with a text.

Jade:
good luck today, let me know how it goes x

I smile at her thoughtfulness and type a simple reply.

Shawn:
Will do x

The car pulls up outside of People Magazine HQ and Andrew and I jump out. Andrew pays the driver through the rolled down window and I hand him a $20 tip. We make our way into the tall, modern building and Andrew speaks with the receptionist about my interview. He returns to my side and tells me my interview is on floor 5, room 503. We enter the elevator and I push the button.

Andrew reminds me on the way up how to answer questions that are personal. Tell the truth, but not too much of it. I nod as I listen and the elevator comes to a stop. We walk out and I follow him as he searches for room 503. It's easy to find, he takes a seat outside it because usually I do these things on my own. I shoot him a grin and he gives me two thumbs up.

I clear my throat and shake out my shoulders before hastily pushing open the dark wood door.

"Hi, you must be my three o' clock," a voice calls. An all too familiar voice. She's standing there with her back turned to me as she organises a notebook and loose sheets. She chuckles, "Sorry, I have trouble keeping things neat."

"Is that so?" I reply causally, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans and watching as she freezes.

Trinity slowly turns around, her lips that kissed mine many times before parting a little. I bite my lip, she's here. She's right here in front of me after all this time. I haven't seen her in over two years, and she's here! God, she looks so beautiful. More mature, maybe. She's dressed in a vibrant blue pantsuit with a white blouse underneath and white slip-on vans. I mentally chuckle, so she never gave up on that habit.

"Shawn Mendes," Trinity breathes, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

"That's me," I say softly.

Trinity clears her throat, seemingly snapping out of her shock, "You can take a seat. I'll just be a minute organising these sheets."

I nod my head and she turns around again. There's two sleek chairs sitting across from each other with no barrier in between. I take a seat in the one closest to me and my heart begins to race.

Being this near to the woman I loved so much is a rather large mindfuck. Does she hate me? Has she put the past behind her? What is she even doing here? I swear her internship was only supposed to be for the summer of 2019. All similar questions race through my mind as I impatiently bounce my knee. I anxiously chew on my bottom lip, my breathing uneven at the thought of us sitting so near. If I leaned forward, our knees would definitely touch.

Trinity makes her way over and pulls her seat back an inch or two. I mentally sigh. She takes a seat and crosses one leg over the other, pulling her glasses down from the top of her head and perching them on the bridge of her nose. She flicks through a tightly bound refill pad and clicks her pen. When she finds what she's looking for, she looks up at me coldly.

"Shall we begin?"