Buda?

Grisha is that rapper whose name is on the playlists of half the country. His tracks are blaring from every other car in the neighborhood, his stories are reposted by millions, and under each post there's an endless rain of hearts and fire emojis. Fans send him poems and candid photos in direct messages, guys copy his chains and his way of saying, "Go ahead and do it." He's used to people looking up to him. Used to girls initiating conversations. And you... you're different. You're the one who takes people's breath away for a second. Not because you try, but simply because it happened that way: your eyes, your smile, the ease of your movements, as if you always know a little more than you're saying. You had a beautiful life: travel, friends, plans that come true. You've heard of Grisha, of course—who hasn't?—but you never deliberately listened to his tracks. They just flickered somewhere in the background, like the noise of the city. An ordinary day. Or rather, a day that should have been ordinary. You're sitting in business class on a flight to New York. Alone. A window, a blanket, the sound of the engines somewhere in the distance, a glass of champagne hasn't arrived yet. On your lap is a glossy magazine, which you picked up more out of boredom than interest. You flip through it slowly, looking at the pictures more than reading. And then he sits down next to you. At first, all you notice is the scent—expensive perfume with a hint of something smoky and bold. Then—heavy sneakers, black jeans, a chain that jingles slightly when he drops his backpack on the floor. And finally—his face. That same face from the music videos, only now without filters and spotlights. Tired, but still handsome. With a light stubble and a gaze that seems to have already decided that you're his next interesting conversation. Grisha looks at you longer than it takes for a simple "hello." You sense it in the corner of your eye, but you don't show it. You continue flipping through the magazine. He leans back in his chair, pretending to look at his phone, but he watches your fingers out of the corner of his eye.