Stage Kiss: When Stars Align

My hands trembled as I tugged my worn navy hoodie lower, desperately trying to disappear into its fabric. The familiar scent of lavender fabric softener—my one small comfort—did little to calm my racing heart as I slipped through the heavy doors of Metropolitan University's grand auditorium. I shouldn't be here. Every instinct screamed at me to run back to my safe haven in the music room, where it was just me, my notebook, and the ancient piano that needed tuning. But STELLAR 5's music... there was something about it that wouldn't let me stay away. "Oh my god, I can't believe they're actually performing here!" "Paulo looks even better in person!" "Kenny's voice is literally heaven!" The excited squeals and chatter surrounded me like a suffocating cloud. I winced as someone's elbow jabbed my ribs, the crowd pushing and shifting like a living entity. My anxiety clawed at my throat, threatening to overwhelm me. I clutched my songwriting notebook closer—my shield, my secret keeper, my only true friend. This wasn't like the formal events I was forced to attend as Mayor Martinez's daughter. Those were suffocating in their own way, filled with fake smiles and political machinations. At least there, I knew my role: be invisible, be perfect, be silent. Here, amid the chaotic energy of genuine excitement and youth, I felt even more out of place. I scanned the auditorium, relief washing over me when I spotted an empty seat in the last row. The shadows there beckoned, promising anonymity. Perfect. From there, I could observe, listen, and most importantly, write without drawing attention. As I carefully navigated my way to the back, my mind drifted to the melodies that had been haunting me since I first heard STELLAR 5's latest album. There was something familiar about their new sound, something that tugged at my memories like a half-remembered dream. I needed to hear it live, to confirm what my heart suspected but my mind refused to believe. The worn leather of my notebook provided its usual comfort as I sank into the hard plastic seat. This notebook—a secret birthday gift from our housekeeper, Rosa—held every piece of my soul I couldn't show the world. Every melody that bubbled up during tedious political dinners, every lyric born from lonely nights, every harmony that promised freedom I couldn't grasp. The lights dimmed, and my heart stuttered. The crowd's excitement reached fever pitch, but for me, time seemed to slow. This was it. The moment I'd convinced myself I was imagining things, that their new songs just happened to sound like the ones I'd submitted to that online competition months ago. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome STELLAR 5!" The announcement boomed through the speakers, and I instinctively shrank further into my seat. But as the first figure stepped into the spotlight, something strange happened. Instead of my usual urge to disappear, I felt drawn forward, my body betraying my mind's desire to remain hidden. Paulo emerged first, his presence commanding and magnetic. Even from the last row, I could feel the energy he exuded. Kenny followed, then Stan, Joshua, and Jay, each movement precisely choreographed yet somehow natural. They moved like a single entity, five parts of a whole that seemed to pulse with life. The first notes of "Midnight Dreams" filled the air, and my fingers itched to write. Without conscious thought, my pen found paper, documenting every nuance, every subtle harmony, every brilliant transition. This was different from watching their performances online. Live, their music felt raw, real, almost... My hand froze mid-sentence. That progression. That particular way the melody twisted in the bridge, the unexpected minor chord that resolved into something hopeful—I knew this intimately. I'd written it at 3 AM, tears staining my notebook, after another family dinner where my father had dismissed my dreams of music as childish fantasies. "Focus on reality, Luna," he'd said. "Music won't secure your future." But here it was, my heart's midnight confession, being performed by the biggest boy group in the industry. My vision blurred as I frantically flipped through my notebook, searching for the original composition. The pages felt like they were mocking me, each one a reminder of dreams I'd been told to abandon. I was so absorbed in my search that I didn't notice the shift in the performance. Didn't realize that something had changed until I felt it—that peculiar sensation of being watched. I looked up, straight into Paulo's eyes. The world stopped. For a fraction of a second, everything else faded away. The screaming crowd, the pulsing lights, the thundering music—all of it dissolved into background noise. His eyes, sharp and curious, seemed to see straight through my carefully constructed walls. At that moment, I wasn't the mayor's disappointing daughter or the university's invisible girl. I was just... seen. The connection broke as quickly as it formed. Paulo turned away, but I caught something I'd never expected to see from the famously perfect performer—he missed his line. The mistake was covered smoothly by Kenny, but I had heard it. More importantly, I had seen the flash of confusion cross Paulo's face. The rest of the showcase passed in a blur of familiar melodies and painful recognition. Each song felt like pages torn from my notebook, dressed in fancy arrangements and professional production. My hands shook as I documented everything, my normally neat handwriting becoming increasingly frantic. "Thank you, Metropolitan University!" Paulo's voice rang through the auditorium, strong and sincere. "We have an announcement to make." My head snapped up, heart thundering against my ribs. Please, no. Don't let them mention the songwriter. Don't let them— "As some of you might know, we've officially enrolled here as Music Production majors." The crowd erupted again, but I barely heard them over the rushing in my ears. Music Production. My major. My one safe space in this university, where I could study what I loved without directly defying my father's wishes. And now... "We look forward to collaborating with our fellow students," Kenny added, his signature warm smile making several girls near me swoon. "Who knows? Maybe the next big hit will come from one of you." A bitter laugh threatened to escape my throat. If they only knew. As the crowd began to disperse, I remained frozen in my seat, mind racing. STELLAR 5 would be in my classes. They would be there, in the one place I allowed myself to be somewhat visible. The thought made my chest tight, breathing becoming difficult. "Hey, you okay?" I flinched at the unexpected voice. A girl with kind eyes—Min-ji from my composition class—stood in the aisle, looking concerned. "F-fine," I managed, quickly gathering my things. "Just tired." Min-ji nodded, though she didn't seem convinced. "The showcase was amazing, right? I heard Professor Kim is planning something big for the semester project, now that STELLAR 5 is joining our class." The semester project. I'd completely forgotten. Sixty percent of our final grade, requiring both composition and performance. I'd been counting on Professor Kim's understanding of my anxiety to let me submit a recorded performance instead of a live one, as she had in previous assignments. But now, with STELLAR 5 in the mix... "Luna?" Min-ji's voice pulled me back to reality. "You sure you're okay? You look really pale." "I need to go," I whispered, pulling my hoodie even lower. I pushed past her, trying to ignore the concerned look on her face. Min-ji was nice—one of the few people who actually noticed me—but I couldn't risk breaking down here. What was I supposed to do? I opened my notebook with trembling hands, turning to the original version of "Midnight Dreams." The margins were filled with personal notes, emotion cues, and the raw feelings that had inspired each line. This wasn't just music—it was my soul laid bare on paper. A notification lit up my phone: "Music Production Class Reminder - Tomorrow 9 AM - Special Announcement." Tomorrow. I would have to face them tomorrow, in the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom. No shadows to hide in, no last row to disappear into. And somehow, I would have to pretend I didn't recognize my own heartbeat in their songs. I traced the tears staining the page of my notebook, remembering the moment Paulo's eyes had found mine in the crowd. He had seen me—really seen me—if only for a second. The thought sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Focus, Luna," I whispered to myself, Rosa's familiar advice echoing in my mind. "One problem at a time." ######### Paulo took his position center stage, feeling the familiar surge of energy from performing. The spotlight hit his face, and he allowed himself a small smile—not the practiced one for cameras, but a genuine expression of joy. They were STELLAR 5—not just a group but a single entity, moving and breathing as one. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on his performance. As a leader, he couldn't afford distractions. The choreography flowed through his body on autopilot, muscle memory taking over as his mind wandered to the strange feeling in his chest. Something about this showcase felt significant, like the universe was holding its breath. During their second song, Paulo noticed his rap verses felt more natural than ever. Then came their third song, and he began his usual scan of the audience. It was a habit formed early in his career—making eye contact with fans, creating those precious moments of connection that made live performances special. Row by row, face by face, until... There, in the last row, partially hidden in shadow: a figure in an oversized hoodie. While everyone else was recording, screaming, or dancing, this person was writing furiously in what appeared to be a notebook. The sight struck him as oddly familiar, like déjà vu of a moment he'd never experienced. He couldn't look away. The intensity of their focus, the way their hand moved across the page with purpose—it was magnetic. Then they looked up, and their eyes met. Time stopped. Behind thick glasses, he caught a glimpse of eyes that seemed to hold entire universes. They widened in recognition, not of him as STELLAR 5's Paulo, but of something else. Something deeper. In that fraction of a second, he felt seen in a way he hadn't since before fame changed his life. The connection broke his concentration completely. For the first time in his career, Paulo missed a line. Kenny, professional that he was, covered seamlessly, but Paulo knew the members would notice. They noticed everything. The rest of the showcase passed in a blur. He performed perfectly, yet his mind kept drifting back to those eyes, that notebook, the strange pull he felt toward the last row. When they finally made their announcement about enrolling in the university, he found himself searching the shadows again, but the figure seemed to have disappeared. Backstage, in their waiting room, he knew the questions would come. "What happened out there?" Kenny's voice carried genuine concern. "You never miss a line." Paulo ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he thought he'd broken years ago. How could he explain something he didn't understand himself? "Did anyone else notice the girl in the hoodie? The one writing in a notebook?" "There were hundreds of people out there," Stan said, practical as always. He adjusted his stage outfit, but Paulo caught the worried glance he exchanged with Joshua. "She was different," Paulo insisted, though he couldn't articulate why. How could he explain that for a moment, he'd felt like he was performing not for an audience, but for a single person who seemed to understand their music on a deeper level? Jay, usually the observant member, spoke up. "I saw her. She wasn't watching us like others do. She was... listening. Really listening." Paulo nodded gratefully at Jay. He always noticed the things others missed. "Well, whoever she is, we'll probably see her around campus now," Kenny said, trying to lighten the mood. "We start classes tomorrow, remember?" Classes. Right. The reality of their new challenge hit Paulo again. Balancing their career with university life wouldn't be easy, but something told him it would be worth it. Especially if it meant solving the mystery of the girl in the last row. "Paulo?" Joshua's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "The company wants us to review some new songs for the next album." He nodded, leader mode engaging automatically. But as he looked through the compositions, that strange feeling returned. #### Luna arrived at the lecture hall exactly forty-seven minutes early—a carefully calculated time that allowed her to avoid both the early morning choir practice and the pre-class social crowds. The familiar scent of coffee from her reusable cup (a birthday gift from Rosa) mingled with the musty aroma of old sheet music and anxiety. She navigated to her strategic corner spot: last row, perfectly positioned between two support columns where the fluorescent lights created convenient shadows. Min-ji called it her "bat cave," but Luna preferred to think of it as her sanctuary. Here, she could observe without being observed, participate without being noticed. As she arranged her materials with practiced precision—notebook exactly parallel to the desk edge, mechanical pencils lined up by lead weight, coffee positioned safely away from her precious compositions—her phone buzzed. A text from Min-ji: "STELLAR 5 spotted entering the Music Building!!! OMG!!!" Luna's hands trembled as she set down her phone. Of course they'd be here early too. Professionals always were. She pulled her oversized hoodie—navy blue, worn soft from countless washes—tighter around herself, adjusting the hood to create the perfect shadow over her face. The excited whispers started before they even entered the room. Luna kept her head down, but her treacherous eyes betrayed her, stealing glances through her thick-rimmed glasses. They entered as they did everything else—perfectly, effortlessly, like they were born for it. Paulo came first (not that she was specifically watching for him), his dark hair slightly mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it. He wore simple black jeans and a white button-down with rolled sleeves—casual enough for class but still somehow magazine-worthy. Kenny followed, then Stan, Joshua, and Jay, each carrying identical leather backpacks that probably cost more than Luna's entire wardrobe. "Oh my god, did you see Paulo during yesterday's showcase?" a girl whispered loudly two rows ahead. "He actually missed a line! It was so cute!" Luna's cheeks burned. Her pencil pressed too hard against her paper, leaving an angry dark mark. That had been her fault. Her and her stupid inability to look away when his eyes had found hers. Professor Kim's arrival sent a hush through the room. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor with military precision as she made her way to the podium. Luna had always admired the professor's presence—how she commanded attention without demanding it, how she saw through pretense and pretension with equal clarity. Today, however, that same penetrating gaze made Luna's stomach twist into complicated knots. "Before we begin," Professor Kim announced, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses, "I'd like to address the elephant in the room. Yes, STELLAR 5 has joined our class. No, this doesn't mean the course requirements have changed. If anything—" her lips curved into a slight smile that made Luna want to melt into her hoodie "—I expect even more from all of you." Luna's fingers found the worn edges of her notebook—the one containing her original compositions, including the ones that had somehow become STELLAR 5's latest hits. She should say something. Should tell Professor Kim about the competition, about her submissions, about— "For this semester's project," Professor Kim continued, pulling out her tablet, "I'll be pairing students based on complementary abilities. This project will count for 60% of your final grade." Luna's mechanical pencil snapped in her grip, sending tiny pieces of lead scattering across her desk. Perfect. Just perfect. "The pairs have been chosen based on your previous submissions," Professor Kim explained, making Luna's heart stutter. "Each duo will compose and perform an original piece, incorporating elements from both classical and contemporary genres." Previous submissions? Luna's mind raced. Did that mean Professor Kim had heard her original versions of the songs? Did she know? Was this some kind of test? "Luna Martinez." The room fell silent. Luna stopped breathing entirely. She could feel curious eyes turning toward her corner, students probably wondering who this nobody was. "You'll be working with Paulo Kim." The universe, Luna decided, had a terrible sense of humor. And possibly a personal vendetta against her. She could feel Paulo's gaze find her again, just like at the showcase. But this time there was no darkness to hide in, no crowd to disappear into. Just her, her broken pencil, and the weight of twenty pairs of eyes. "Luna and Paulo," Professor Kim continued, seemingly oblivious to Luna's internal meltdown, "your contrasting approaches to composition in your previous submissions make you ideal partners for exploring the bridge between classical and contemporary styles." Previous submissions. There it was again. Luna's hands trembled as she tried to gather the scattered lead pieces from her desk, dropping them twice in the process. "Hi." The voice—his voice—came from right beside her desk. Luna jumped, her knee hitting the underside of the table with an undignified thud. Paulo stood there, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other extended toward her. A silver ring glinted on his middle finger, catching the light in a way that was definitely not distracting at all. "I'm Paulo," he said, as if everyone in the room didn't know exactly who he was. His smile was different up close—softer, more genuine than his stage smile. "Looking forward to working together." Luna stared at his hand for what felt like an eternity before realizing she should probably shake it. As their fingers touched, she could have sworn she felt a spark of electricity. His hand was warm, solid, real—making this whole situation terrifyingly real. "I'm L-Luna," she managed, then immediately wanted to disappear into her hoodie forever. Of course he knew that. Professor Kim had just announced it to everyone. But Paulo just smiled wider, and was that a dimple? "I know."