Mason
"You're in love when you realize someone is truly unique. And it's the small things, the unnoticed gestures, that end up changing your life."—Jorge Luis Borges
Have you ever lived a moment that felt like watching a movie through someone else's eyes? Like it's real, but somehow distant? These past few days have felt exactly like that—a constant reel of comedy and suspense.
It all started the day we returned to Australia, my bandmates and I, after three long months of events, interviews, and a short tour across the Americas. The trip left us with wild stories and even wilder dreams for the future. We finally decided to live together in Melbourne for a year. I never imagined post-tour life would feel so… ordinary.
Our first breakfast together turned into a full-blown battle over the last coffee filter—and yes, I was the one who sneakily hid it behind the microwave. But the sound of laughter and shouting bouncing off the kitchen walls made it all worth it. Melbourne welcomed us with unpredictable weather, watercolor skies, and that bakery scent that seems to float around every corner.
If I had to choose the exact moment when curiosity turned into memory, it would be that day at the airport. I saw someone who seemed to defy gravity with every step—wobbly suitcases, eyes scanning like she was decoding an invisible map, a delicate balance between chaos and determination. From afar, she looked like a mix between a seasoned traveler and a lost kid, trying to find the right exit, dodging people, and hunting down a taxi before confusion swallowed her whole.
I didn't know who she was, but something in her elegant clumsiness made me smile. It was such a genuine scene, impossible to forget. I don't know when I started looking for her in the crowd. Like her awkward grace had become a beacon. Like, without meaning to, she'd left me waiting for the next scene.
On our third day in the city, we met her—almost officially. The mystery photographer. Connor spotted her first, camera in hand, chasing moments between the rhythm of the trams. I only noticed her mismatched boots—and yes, I have her shoe, but that story deserves its own chapter.
Funny thing is, when I saw her at the beach, I didn't connect the dots. The photographer chasing moments and the girl from the airport were two separate characters in my mind. Until that day at the bakery, under the drizzle, between laughter and warm bread, everything clicked. It was like fate had stitched together the most unlikely scenes so that, in the end, I could say: yes, that girl juggling suitcases and asphalt was the same one now sharing stories and laughter with us.
With the guys, everything is noise and rhythm. With her, it was like turning the volume down on the world for a second.
That night, after we said goodbye, I walked alone to the tram stop, thinking about how sometimes, all it takes is hearing someone laugh to feel like you belong somewhere. I wondered how many more chance encounters were waiting for us, how many secrets Melbourne was hiding in its rain-soaked streets full of stories.