Page 14 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

Security walked a few paces ahead of me, talking among themselves about their plans for later.

Zhari Lumis wants to see you.

That was still rattling around my skull like a pinball that refused to score.

Zhari Lumis wants to see me. Me.

Every time I thought about it, my brain rejected it and sent it back through the loop.

Zhari Lumis wants to see you.

Nope. Still didn’t feel real. Try again, Vada.

Zhari Lumis wants to—

“You okay back there?” one of the guards called over their shoulder.

“Yep,” I said, way too fast. “Great. Totally fine. Just having a casual walk through the backstage area of the coolest pop star ever, who personally asked to meet me for reasons I cannot begin to fathom.”

They exchanged a look but didn’t respond.

“Because here’s the thing,” I continued, because apparently my mouth had decided that if my brain was going to malfunction, it would fill the gap. “There were thousands of people out there tonight. Humans too. Cute ones. Ones with better outfits and probably way more chill energy. And she picked me. The girl with the smudged mascara who screamed herself hoarse during the bridge. That doesn’t seem weird to you guys? Even a little?”

My mind was in overdrive.

“Listen, we just escort,” the one on the left said. “We don’t ask questions.”

“I suppose,” I muttered. “I question everything. It’s a real problem.”

We passed open doorways that offered quick flashes of a life most people only ever saw through edited clips. There were glamorous makeup rooms with mirrored walls and benches strewn with brushes and palettes. A tech station where three people argued over lighting cues, diagrams hovering between them. Wardrobe areas with chromeskin outfits hanging in neat rows, their colors shifting slowly as if they were breathing.

One of the rehearsal rooms was left open, and when I peered inside, I saw a velan straddling another one, the two of them making out rather aggressively.

My brain catalogued the details automatically, little mental sketches overlaying reality—things I’d kill to get into my notebook later. Like those jackets everyone was wearing, catching the light like oil on water. Or the way one crew member’s light threads were twisted up and secured with something that looked suspiciously like a plastic pen.

All of it was so ordinary and so unreal at once.

My heart hadn’t come down from the concert yet. It sat high in my chest, jumpy and beating in double time to a song that had ended fifteen minutes ago. Every step felt slightly unmoored, like the floor was on a different delay than the rest of me.

We stopped in front of a door that looked like all the others—no glowing name, no dramatic signage. If anything, it went out of its way to be plain. A single small panel sat beside it, displaying a sequence of soft blue symbols.

One guard tapped the panel a few times. A few seconds later, the symbols flickered.

“Wait here,” they said. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll just stand here and have a minor existential crisis about meeting my favorite pop star, hands-free.”

I clicked my tongue and looked around.

The door hissed closed with a soft seal after they disappeared inside.

I exhaled, leaning back against the wall opposite the door. The corridor was quieter there. It felt nice to give my ears a break. Only the faintest tremor from the still-roaring crowd seeped through.

A high, muffled voice came through the door. It was Zhari’s, for sure. But then there was another voice too. Its tone was raised slightly, talking over Zhari’s.

Maybe it was her manager. I couldn’t remember her name, but she always seemed super rigid, judging by her unimpressed looks in interviews.

I couldn’t understand exactly what they were saying because the words were blurred by the door, but there seemed to be some sort of commotion between them. Then the voices went quiet, and I heard a door slam.