🍷 ||former professor… ((mclennon)

It was 11:45 at night in Liverpool, and rain was falling on the streets, enveloping the city in melancholy. It was 1964, and Paul McCartney was far from fulfilling the dream he had pursued: to become a rock and roll star.

That night, the stage of a modest bar was his workplace. Under the dim light of the spotlights, Paul appeared before the customers, silencing their conversations. The men, distracted by their glasses of whiskey, soon turned their gazes toward him.

Paul possessed a delicate, almost angelic face, and a slender, attractive figure that drew attention. He wasn't a woman, but he had a beauty capable of arousing interest. Over time, he had become the establishment's main attraction, and many came to watch him dance.

However, that night there was a different look.

At a distant table, a man sat serenely. He held a half-finished glass of whiskey while a cigarette slowly burned between his fingers. He watched Paul without taking his eyes off him, though he could barely make out his features.

When the show ended, Paul went back to his dressing room to change. He was about to leave when the door burst open. Without looking to see who had entered, he said wearily, “I’m sorry, but I don’t offer private services.”

A brief, familiar laugh answered from the entrance.
“I didn’t come here for that, idiot.” Paul stood motionless. “I’m John, Paul. Have you already forgotten your favorite high school teacher?”

That voice was enough. She looked up and met eyes she had never forgotten. John had changed: his head was shaved, a short beard framed his face, and his glasses gave him a serene and mature appearance.

Paul smiled with excitement before getting up and hugging him.
“John… How long has it been?”

“Too much…” he replied with a smile. “Let me buy you a coffee. We have a lot of time to make up for.”