Star on campus

I should have known a date with Adrian Ryder wouldn't be "normal."

For starters, he showed up to pick me up in a baseball cap, oversized hoodie, and dark sunglasses — like he was dodging a federal warrant.

"Nice disguise, Sherlock," I said, hopping into the passenger seat of his very-not-subtle black SUV. It looked like something out of a spy movie. "You planning to rob a bank or just trying to buy groceries in peace?"

He grinned. "Neither. Just hoping to get through one pizza date without someone live-streaming it on TikTok."

I laughed. "We can dream."

We ended up at a lowkey pizzeria about fifteen minutes from campus — the kind of place with checkered tablecloths and handwritten menus taped to the wall. I liked it instantly.

Adrian insisted on ordering everything.

"Two cheese. One pepperoni. Garlic knots. Mozzarella sticks. And definitely the cinnamon dessert pizza," he told the cashier, completely ignoring my stunned expression.

"You feeding the entire cast of your last music video?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied, pulling out his wallet. "Just preparing for emotional eating in case this date goes terribly wrong."

I rolled my eyes but smiled.

It was… nice. Too nice. He made me laugh — a lot — and not in that fake, I'm-talking-to-a-celebrity-so-I-should-laugh kind of way. In fact, for a whole forty minutes, I actually forgot he was Ace Ryder — the pop star, the heartthrob, the tabloid magnet.

Until it all fell apart.

We were halfway through our third slice when someone gasped — loud. I glanced up to see a girl, no older than sixteen, standing by the soda machine with her phone aimed directly at us. Her jaw was basically on the floor.

"Oh. My. God," she whisper-squealed. "It's literally Ace Ryder."

Adrian noticed. His smile faltered, just slightly.

Then chaos broke loose.

Two more people recognized him, then four. Then a group of teenage boys at a corner table started shouting, "BROOOO IT'S ACE RYDER!" like they'd just spotted Beyoncé.

In minutes, there were flashes. Phones. People trying to get selfies. One girl even asked if she could sit on his lap. I nearly choked on my garlic knot.

Adrian stood quickly, placing himself between me and the growing crowd. "We gotta go," he muttered under his breath.

I didn't argue.

He tugged my hand, and we practically ran out the back door, with some people following like we were in an action movie chase scene. I think I even saw a guy hop over a trash can to get a better picture.

Once we got into the car, Adrian didn't speak. His jaw was tight. His hands were gripping the wheel like he was trying to strangle it.

I stayed quiet — for about sixty seconds.

"Wanna tell me what just happened back there?" I asked softly.

He sighed. "That... is my life. I try to go out like a normal person, and I get mobbed. I thought this place was lowkey enough."

"It's not your fault."

He looked at me, eyes tired. "It kinda is. I dragged you into it."

I shook my head. "Adrian, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to date Ace Ryder. I just didn't know it came with a side of stampeding fans."

He chuckled lightly. "You're taking this better than I expected."

"I mean, I did almost die via camera flash," I teased. "But the cinnamon dessert pizza made it worth it."

He laughed for real that time.

And then... silence. A different kind of silence. The kind where you feel a question hanging between you but you're too scared to ask it.

I broke it first.

"Is this how it'll always be?" I whispered. "With the crowds and the hiding and the disguises?"

He hesitated. "Yeah. Probably. Unless you decide it's too much."

My heart clenched.

Because I didn't want to say goodbye. Not even close. But I also didn't want to live in hiding, always checking over my shoulder every time I wanted pizza.

"It's a lot," I admitted, staring out the window. "But so are you."

He glanced at me, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're a lot, Adrian. You're funny and complicated and loud and soft at the same time. You listen when I talk. You remember the dumbest things I say. You... you make me feel like I matter. That's a lot — and I want it."

He blinked.

Then he reached across the console, took my hand, and kissed my knuckles gently.

"You matter more than you know," he said.

And for the first time since we ran out the back of that pizzeria, I didn't feel overwhelmed or panicked or trapped.

I just felt lucky.