Not An Ordinary Love Song

Chapter Six : "You're staring...."

That evening in the studio, Aston rearranged and recorded his score—the special music played during each break in their concert. As one of the city’s most acknowledged music composers, his work was often known for its dark, heavy atmosphere.

But for this concert, he wanted something lighter. Cheerful, even—without completely abandoning the band’s dark roots.

“Wow,” Luca said suddenly as he stepped into the studio. “What’s with the mood today?”

“What do you mean?” Aston asked, fingers still moving over the MIDI keys.

“What’s making you so cheerful?” Luca dropped into the chair beside him and began flipping through the song sheets on the table. He could feel Aston’s gaze following his movements. “I mean… the score.”

“Is it bad?” Aston hesitated, then tried to lower the key, adding more minor tones to the melody.

“No—don’t!” Luca quickly stopped him. “Keep it. Let it be. I trust your composition.” He smiled faintly. “I’m used to hearing darker, minor tunes from you. But this? It’s good to hear something new. You know… refreshing.”

Aston only shrugged, though the tension in his shoulders eased a little.

“Anyway,” Luca continued casually, “I saw you going out with our stylist friend.”

Aston opened his mouth to respond, but Luca spoke again before he could.

“I was going to your place yesterday. Then I saw you two sitting together, so I made a U-turn. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

Silence settled between them. Aston kept tweaking the keys, pretending to focus. Luca picked up his phone and started scrolling.

Then he paused.

“So… what happened after that?”

Took a minute for him to realize what is Luca even talking about. When he realize, Aston kicked Luca's foot.

They ended up laughing together.

BEEP.

A notification flashed on Aston’s screen.

A message in the group chat—from Andrew.

You guys are being watched. Make sure you don’t make any mistakes. Even the tiniest flaw will bring us down together. The countdown starts now.

_____

That same evening, Ariana left the meeting room with her head pounding and her patience worn thin.

Three hours. Three damn hours just to decide numbers.

Thirty outfits for the band.

Fifty shirts for the crew.

All of it had to be finished within a month—no delays, no excuses.

She nodded mechanically as the design team promised weekly updates. As the project manager, the responsibility wrapped around her throat like a tightening noose.

When she was finally alone, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

What the hell, Tina…

Look what you dragged me into.

“What about some coffee? Or dinner?” Julie matched her steps to Ariana’s, slipping an arm around her waist. Ariana looked unsteady on her feet, exhaustion weighing down her shoulders.

“Thanks, Jules,” Ariana said softly. “I’ve been thinking about this new café. Want to try it?”

A few minutes later, Ariana climbed into Julie’s car. The city lights slid past the windows as they drove, the quiet hum of the road filling the space between them. Ten minutes later, they arrived.

Warm light spilled from the café’s windows onto the sidewalk. Laughter and music drifted through the door as soon as they stepped inside. It was Friday night, after all.

Live music played in the background. A waitress greeted them with a bright smile and led them to the coziest table near the window—straight across from the small stage. They handed over their orders and settled into their seats, the low murmur of conversation blending with the melody onstage.

Then Julie froze.

Her breath caught.

“Wait…” She leaned closer, eyes widening. “Is that—”

“God’s Ark!” someone from the table beside them squealed. “Oh my God, that’s Aston, Luca, and Henry!”

Julie blinked, stunned. “Aren’t they supposed to be resting before their concert?” she said, half to herself.

Ariana tilted her head, finally looking properly at the stage. She’d heard this band’s songs so many times—on playlists, in passing, from open café doors—but she had never put a face to the voice.

She never imagined the singer would suddenly belong to her world.

Her gaze lingered on the man at the center of the stage, fingers moving with quiet confidence over the keys, his voice wrapping around the room like smoke.

Oh.

So this is him.

A genius, she thought, almost unwillingly impressed.

How does someone write something that feels this right?

They listened to two more songs before their food arrived. The music softened into the background as plates were placed on the table.

Ariana’s ravioli was warm and comforting, the kind of food that felt like a hug after a long day. Julie’s plate, on the other hand, held nothing but a neatly arranged salmon salad.

Ariana eyed it, frowning. “Is that really going to be enough for you?”

Julie laughed. “I’m on a diet. I have to look perfect when it’s time to officially lead them to their wardrobe fitting.” She tilted her head toward the stage, where the band was setting up for another song.

Ariana shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then she nudged her plate closer. “If you’re still hungry later, steal some of mine. This portion is huge.”

Julie’s eyes lit up. “Deal.”

The music swelled again, the café glowing softly around them, and for the first time that night, Ariana felt her chest loosen—just a little—as the melody carried her somewhere lighter.

The café hummed with low conversation and clinking glasses, but Ariana barely heard any of it anymore.

Her attention kept drifting back to the stage.

The man at the center of the band—Aston—sat behind the keyboard, his fingers moving with effortless precision. The soft lights above traced the sharp lines of his face, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. He looked distant, even while singing, as if half of him lived somewhere far darker than this warm, crowded room.

Ariana didn’t know why she kept watching him.

Maybe it was the music.

Maybe it was the strange pull in her chest she couldn’t explain.

She looked down at her ravioli, twirling her fork absently.

“You’re staring,” Julie teased, following her line of sight.

“I’m not,” Ariana said quickly. Then, quieter, “I just… didn’t expect him to be that good.”

Julie smirked. “He's a professional musician. Of course. Careful. That’s how it starts.”

Ariana ignored her, but her gaze betrayed her again when the song softened, when Aston’s voice dipped into something almost fragile.

For a brief second, he lifted his eyes from the keys.

Their gazes met.

It was nothing.

Barely a heartbeat.

Still, Ariana felt it like a brush of heat against her skin. She looked away first, suddenly too aware of herself, of how small the café felt, of how the music seemed to fold around her.

When the final song ended, applause filled the room. The band bowed lightly, smiles faint and tired. The lights dimmed, and the café’s chatter rushed back in, louder than before.

Julie exhaled dramatically. “Okay. That was unfairly good.”

Ariana let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

She reached for her water, only to realize her glass was empty. “I’m going to get a refill.”

“I’ll come—”

“I’ll be quick,” Ariana said, already standing.

She weaved through the tables toward the counter, the echoes of music still lingering in her ears. The café felt warmer now, more crowded. As she waited for the waitress, she sensed someone behind her.

“Sorry,” a low voice said. “Didn’t mean to—”

Ariana turned at the same time.

Aston stood there.

Up close, he looked different. Less distant. More human. The shadows under his eyes told a story of long nights and too little rest. His stage presence lingered in the way he carried himself, quiet confidence threaded with something guarded.

“Oh—” Ariana blinked, caught off guard. “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched, awkward but charged.

Aston’s gaze lingered on her face for half a second too long before he cleared his throat.

"You were sitting near the window.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she said. “You noticed?”

He gave a faint smile. “Hard not to, when someone looks like they’re listening to the music instead of just hearing it.”

Ariana’s breath stuttered, the compliment landing heavier than she expected.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You sounded… different tonight.”

“Different how?”

“Like you were trying not to be sad,” she said honestly. Then, realizing how personal that sounded, she added, “Not in a bad way. Just… honest.”

Aston’s smile faded into something quieter, something more real.

“Maybe I was,” he admitted.

The waitress returned with Ariana’s water, breaking the moment. Ariana accepted the glass, fingers brushing the cold surface, suddenly aware of how close they were standing.

“Good performance,” she said, softer now.

“Thanks,” Aston replied. “I’m glad you stayed to listen.”

Their eyes met again—longer this time.

The café noise blurred at the edges, as if the world had narrowed to this small space between them.

Julie’s voice cut through the haze from across the room. “Ari! I am thirsty—”

Ariana turned her head slightly. When she looked back, Aston was already stepping away.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said.

Something in his tone suggested this wasn’t just politeness.

“Yeah,” Ariana replied. “Maybe.”

He disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by shadows and bandmates, leaving behind a strange stillness in his wake.

Ariana stood there for a moment longer than necessary, heart beating just a little too fast for someone she had only just met.

When she returned to the table, Julie was watching her with far too much interest.

“So,” Julie said slowly, eyes sparkling. “Do you still think you weren’t staring?”