Joe stood in line, his heart pounding like the bassline from the concert he’d just witnessed. Nelly Furtado had been electric on stage, her voice soaring over the crowd as she belted out hits from her album Loose. Now, she was seated at a table under soft lights, signing autographs for a long line of fans.
Joe clutched his copy of Loose, the jewel case slightly cracked from years of use. He’d listened to it so many times that he could recite the lyrics in his sleep. The idea of meeting Nelly Furtado felt surreal, like stepping into a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.
As the line inched forward, Joe rehearsed what he’d say. Something cool, something memorable. But by the time he reached the front, all coherent thoughts had fled.
“Hi!” he blurted, his voice a little too loud.
Nelly looked up, her warm smile instantly putting him at ease. “Hi there! What’s your name?”
“Joe,” he said, handing her the CD.
“Well, Joe,” she said, her voice as melodic as her songs, “thanks for coming to the show.”
She uncapped her marker and began signing the cover. Joe knew he had only seconds to make an impression.
“You know,” he said, “this album… it’s like a soundtrack to my life. It’s gotten me through some tough times.”
Nelly paused, looking up at him with genuine interest. “That means a lot to me. Which song is your favorite?”
“‘All Good Things (Come to an End),’” Joe said without hesitation. “It’s bittersweet, but it reminds me to appreciate the good moments while they last.”
Nelly nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s beautiful, Joe. I’m glad the music speaks to you that way.”
She finished signing and slid the CD back to him. Joe hesitated, then said, “Can I ask you something crazy?”
Nelly raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go for it.”
“Would you ever… I don’t know… want to grab coffee with a fan? Just to talk about music?”
The security guard nearby shifted, clearly ready to step in, but Nelly held up a hand, her smile widening. She picked up the CD again and flipped it open, revealing the blank inside cover.
Taking her marker, she scribbled something quickly and handed it back to Joe.
“Here’s my number,” she said, her tone playful but sincere. “If you’re ever in town, maybe we can chat about music.”
Joe stared at the CD, his heart racing. “Really?”
“Really,” she said with a wink. “But only if you promise to keep writing your own soundtrack.”
As Joe walked away, clutching the CD like it was a treasure map, he knew this moment would become another track in the playlist of his life. And for once, it wasn’t bittersweet—it was pure magic.
That’s better. We need you to adore me:
I don’t need nothing at all, except somebody to love.