4 - The Memory of Mago

*ARLENE’s POV*

"Behave, Mago. Arlene is nothing like the girls you usually date.” Patricia warned, her voice carrying both concern and authority.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of uncertainty. Should I be offended? Patricia’s words suggested I wasn’t Mago's usual type, but maybe that was a good thing. After all, Patricia was protective of me—she wouldn’t warn him if she didn’t care.

Patricia cleared her throat, her sharp eyes glancing between Mago and me before she continued, “I only rented this room because I wanted this meeting to stay private. You know how people talk.”

“I told you, I’ve got this,” Mago replied with a smile that seemed both casual and loaded with charm. He had a way of disarming people with that smile—confident, almost too confident.

I wish he'd smile like that at me. Mago and I had known each other since high school, though he probably didn’t remember. Back then, he wasn’t the flirtatious heartthrob he was now. He used to be quiet, reserved, even a little nerdy with his glasses and his far-off look. He was always lost in his music, a mystery that no one could quite figure out.

I still remember the first time we spoke. It was during my audition for the Music Club. I had practiced my song over and over again, memorizing every lyric, but when it was my turn to perform, the nerves hit me like a freight train. My hands shook, and my voice failed me the moment the music started. My heart was racing, panic threatening to crush me right there in front of everyone. I froze. My mind went blank.

Mago wasn’t part of the panel—just an observer. But when you’re as famous as Mago DuPont, you're always noticed. Mago, the star of the music club, sat with the other members, his presence alone making the air feel heavier, more intense. I could feel his gaze on me, and that only made my nerves worse.

“Stop the music,” Marco, the lead singer of Mago’s band, had said. He wasn’t angry, just patient. “Take a breath, we’ll let you try again in a minute.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the burn of embarrassment creeping up my neck. My heart was pounding, my throat tight. I nodded silently and shuffled to the bleachers at the side of the room, feeling utterly defeated.

I sank onto the bench, trying to steady my breath. That’s when I noticed him—Mago—sitting just a few feet away. His glasses were gone by now, his transformation into the campus heartthrob complete, but there was still something grounded in his demeanor. He caught my eye and, to my surprise, leaned in slightly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and calming. “Don’t worry about it. Just take a deep breath. Forget about everyone else.”

I blinked at him, surprised. Mago DuPont, the mysterious, untouchable star, was talking to me. His words weren’t just polite—they were kind, genuine. He smiled then, and it wasn’t the polished, confident grin he wore now. It was softer, the kind of smile that made the world seem a little less intimidating.

“You’ve got this,” he said again, “Don’t let the nerves get to you. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll sing together.” He winked, a playful spark in his eyes that made my heart race for an entirely different reason.

I stared at him, stunned and probably looking ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. Mago was gorgeous—beyond gorgeous. He had that effortless charm, the kind that made you forget everything else. It felt unreal, like he had stepped out of some movie scene and into my world, just to encourage me.

That was the first and last time we had a real conversation. After that, Mago was always distant, always surrounded by his bandmates and adoring fans. I became just another face in the crowd, though his words stayed with me. I practiced harder, hoping maybe one day I’d be good enough to stand on stage with him. I followed every one of his performances, admiring him from afar, holding on to that small hope.

Then he got a girlfriend.

It stung more than I expected. She was always there, always the center of his attention. Meanwhile, I sat quietly in the shadows, pretending it didn’t matter. But it did. It mattered more than I wanted to admit. I kept telling myself it was just a crush, that it wasn’t worth the heartache. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility—the dream—of him seeing me, really seeing me again.

And then, they broke up.

For a brief moment, I let myself believe it could be my chance. But Mago changed after the breakup. He became someone else—someone who basked in attention, flirted with every girl who crossed his path. The quiet, introspective Mago I had admired faded away, replaced by someone who wore his charm like armor. He became like his bandmates—flashy, carefree, and a little too reckless with his affections.

But even then, I couldn’t let go. The memory of that one moment we shared, his kind words, kept me going. I kept practicing, kept showing up at his performances, hoping that one day he’d remember me, that one day we’d share more than just a brief conversation. Because somewhere deep down, I knew my feelings for him weren’t just a fleeting crush. They had grown into something real, something complicated.

And now, here we were, in this room.