The city park pulsed with music and movement. String lights dangled from trees, casting a warm glow over the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of grilled street food and the occasional waft of something sweet—maybe caramel popcorn or fresh churros. It was one of those nights that felt like it didn't belong to real life—like summer was holding on just a little longer before letting go. Time slowed, then stretched, like it knew everyone needed a little more space to breathe.
Shawn Mercer stood near the back of the crowd, hands in his jacket pockets, head nodding to the rhythm of the live band on stage. He wasn't here for the performers, not really. He just liked the noise, the energy, the sound of people losing themselves in something that wasn't pain or pressure. Music had always been his safe place, even when he wasn't holding a guitar. Especially then.
He watched the drummer with practiced eyes, studied the lead guitarist's finger work. He wasn't judging. He was learning. Even in moments of peace, his mind never stopped looking for rhythm, for form, for feeling. Music was the only thing that never let him down.
His friends had wandered off somewhere near the front, closer to the action, but Shawn preferred the edges. He liked observing from the sidelines—less crowded, less chaotic. Less chance to run into someone asking questions he didn't feel like answering.
Amber Dalton, on the other hand, was there with a group of classmates from Xavier Academy. Their school club had volunteered earlier at the community event, and now they were winding down, laughing and taking selfies, sipping fruit shakes from plastic cups with little umbrellas poking out. Amber had insisted on staying longer, drawn in by the warm buzz of the crowd and the live music washing over the night.
Music wasn't her escape, not the way it was for someone like Shawn. But she liked how it made people feel—free, connected, alive. She swayed gently to the beat, her long cardigan billowing slightly in the breeze, the sound of drums echoing through her chest like a second heartbeat. There was something beautiful about watching people let go.
When the band paused to talk to the crowd and adjust their instruments, Amber slipped away from the group to grab a drink. That's when she noticed him—tall, quiet, standing just slightly apart from everyone else. He looked completely relaxed and yet, somehow, completely out of place. Something about the way he was watching the stage, like he was hearing a different version of the song than everyone else, caught her attention.
For a second, their eyes met.
It wasn't dramatic. No spark. Just a glance. A flicker of curiosity.
Later, by the food stalls, fate nudged them again.
She accidentally bumped into him while reaching for a bottled water from a cooler. "Oh—sorry," she said, stepping back slightly, looking up.
Shawn shook his head with a small smile. "All good."
Amber hesitated, recognizing him from earlier. There was something in his expression—calm, but alert. Present, but distant. "You really get into the music," she said, voice light, curious.
"I guess I do," he replied with a shrug. "You?"
"I like it," she said, "but not like that. Not like... you're studying it."
He chuckled, eyes crinkling. "Fair enough. Old habit."
"I'm Amber," she offered, almost without thinking, as if her name had been waiting to be spoken.
"Shawn."
They didn't linger. A moment. A name. That was all. But it was enough to plant something soft in the air—something neither of them had expected to find that night.
She walked back to her friends, glancing over her shoulder once. He stood there for a few seconds longer, watching her disappear into the crowd, before turning back toward the stage.
But sometimes, that's how it starts—not with fireworks, but with a quiet feeling that maybe, just maybe, you'll see each other again.
And they would.
Sooner than either of them expected.