The café inside the academy buzzed with the usual chatter of students, the smell of coffee mingling with the faint tang of polished wood. I found Mylo at our usual spot, sprawled casually in a corner, one leg crossed over the other. His grin widened when he saw me.
"Look at you," he said, gesturing to my notebook clutched like armor. "Still carrying that thing everywhere?"
I rolled my eyes, a wide smile appeared on my lips. "Spare my paranoia. It's part inspiration"
He laughed. "Good. Paranoia and inspiration makes the dream work."
I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest. "So tell me, wise one, what's the secret to surviving this place without tripping over your own ambition?"
He leaned back, eyes twinkling. "Effort over perfection. Mrs. Merdont says it. I say it again. But here's the kicker: confidence isn't something you're given. You steal it. Borrow it from people you admire, practice it, and make it yours."
I nodded slowly, thinking about his words. Confidence. That's what I wanted. Not accolades, not attention, not even applause. I wanted to walk into a room and own it, to feel the kind of presence that made people lean in without even trying.
The café door chimed, and something shifted. Mylo's grin faltered just a little.
"Ah," he said softly, nodding toward the entrance. "That's him."
I turned, curious despite myself. A man stepped inside, moving with scrupulous, effortless precision. Black coat, calm expression, eyes that seemed to measure everything in their path without judgment. Even in the bustle of students and staff, he exuded a quiet authority, as if the room itself bent slightly around him.
Andre.
Mylo leaned toward me, voice lowered. "My cousin. Don't freak out."
I forced a casual nod. "Right. Not freaking out."
As he moved through the café, I couldn't help but notice the subtle contrasts. On social media, he was playful, magnetic, flirtatious. Here, in person, he was… rigid. Polite, yes, even pleasant, but his demeanor was controlled, almost formal. And when he passed by our table, he glanced at me with a brief, calculated look before shifting his attention elsewhere. My chest twisted slightly at the unfamiliar distance.
I watched other students, some who had openly mocked the viral video of him kissing a fan on stage. Now, their phones out, they whispered and giggled, eyes bright with excitement.
Oh, people can be that fake. Not a mind of their own, just following the crowd.
Mylo nudged me. "Noticed the shift?"
I nodded, still watching Andre. "Yeah. It's… unexpected."
"You'll get used to it," Mylo said, though I could see the surprise in his eyes too. "He's not like the videos. He's… different around new people. Sometimes distant. Sometimes completely unflappable."
I felt a flicker of frustration, quickly covered by fascination. He's confident, steady. I want that. Not him, not his fame, not his music. Just that presence. That certainty. The ability to enter a room and make it his without even trying.
When he finally acknowledged us directly, it was polite but distant. "Hello," he said. His tone was careful, neutral, controlled. It didn't match the playful persona the world seemed to love.
"Hi," I replied, feigning nonchalance.
The brief interaction left me unsettled, overthinking instantly. Why so rigid? Did I do something wrong? Was it just me?
Even Mylo seemed caught off guard.
Before I could spiral further, he excused himself, leaving the room quiet but charged. I leaned back, letting the coffee warm my hands.
"He doesn't hate people," Mylo said. "He has a different mood everyday."
I smiled trying to seem unbothered, but my mind raced. He's just a person. Just a person. Focus on your own goals.
By the time the café emptied, the tension in my chest had settled into something softer, a quiet curiosity. The type that made you observe, analyze, and learn. That's what I would take from him — confidence. Nothing else.
That evening, I returned to Eida and Angelo's apartment. The comforting aroma of dinner greeted me as I stepped in. Eida looked up from the table, a smile breaking across her face. "Venny! How was your day?"
"Intense. Inspiring. And… confusing," I admitted, setting down my bag.
Eida laughed, reaching for my hand. "Confusing how?"
I recounted the encounter with Andre, careful to separate admiration from anything else. "He's… not at all what I expected. Polite, yes. Rigid, yes. And somehow… confident in a way I want for myself."
Eida's eyes widened. "Wait. You met Andre? The Andre Labet?"
"Yes," I said, shrugging.
She squealed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Venny! That's amazing! I mean, wow! He's incredible!"
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, though I shook my head slightly. "It's not about that. It's… just confidence. I want to understand that, not the celebrity part."
She nodded, softening. "Okay. That makes sense. But don't overthink it. Maybe he had an off moment, or he's just… careful. Celebrities have their own storms, trust me."
Angelo, sitting across the table, offered a small nod. "She's right. Don't let it eat at you. Just focus on your goals."
I sipped my cold juice, letting their words settle. Confidence. Focus. Goals. That was mine to steal, to cultivate, to own.
But even as I tried to push the thoughts away, a quiet tension lingered at the edge of my mind. Paths were crossing in ways I hadn't yet anticipated, and something told me I hadn't seen the last of him.
The city outside my window shimmered in the fading light, alive and insistent. And I realized, with a quiet thrill, that Velinor wasn't just a backdrop for my dreams — it was a stage, and I was already learning how to command it.
Somewhere, beyond the glint of streetlights and the hum of traffic, Andre existed as more than just a name in headlines. And the thought that our paths may meet again sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.