As I open my HH application, scrolling down, a month back, I’m gasping for air.

‘FALKENBERG SPOTTED IN AMSTERDAM’ I’ve read it over and over again, just to be sure I’m not dreaming. So it was really him, sitting in front of me. I scroll down the article to check every small detail, but it’s really true. A big picture shows Edvard Falkenberg shoveling secretly through the streets of Amsterdam, hiding his eyes under his sunglasses and half of his face under his hood. I can’t remember seeing any cameras around. Maybe it’s because I stayed inside for like an hour after he left. After reading the article from the top down, I decide to check the comments below. Most of them are crazy fans, sending messages like; ‘I wish I was in Amsterdam right now’, and ‘He is so perfect’. Lots of comments later, I find a very interesting one. ‘Who is that stranger in the coffee shop?’ My heart starts to bound faster again. Someone saw us, together, in this cafe. The comment contains a link. I’m not really sure if I need to see it. Despite my fear for what I might find, I click it anyway. I’m holding my breath as I watch the HH page disappear, leading me to a different page I’ve never seen before. It’s a personal page about the person who posted the comment. And there it is, loud and clearly. A picture of Edvard, sitting in this cafe, at this table, talking to a stranger while holding his steaming cup of coffee. That stranger in front of him, is me. The camera was pointed straight to his face, which makes me unrecognizable. I can see the back of my head, my blonde ponytail all knocked out by the wind. My messy sport outfit makes me look cheap and untended. ‘It’s clearly not his girlfriend, who is she?’ ‘Is he spending time with his fans, why didn’t I know that?’ The comments below the picture are endless and some of them are really mean. ‘Who is that shabby looking bitch and what is he doing with her?’ ‘What is THAT!?’

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