"Miss Wilson, would you like to follow me and I'll escort you backstage?"

My stomach was already pounding as I followed the production manager through a maze of dark corridors. The sound of the crowd grew louder with each corner we turned.

Pushing the mouthpiece of her radio headset closer to her lips, she glanced back at me with a quick smile, then barked instructions over the airwaves to an invisible team of event staff. "Dry ice, go. Screens on two. Break a leg, everyone."

The cheers were almost deafening as she guided me into a spot behind a metal railing to the side of the stage, hidden out of sight from the thousands of fans awaiting the arrival of their favourite act on stage.

My mind jumped back to the first time I'd ever seen Noah perform. It seemed such a long time ago; that first night in The Lock, when every move he'd made on stage had caused my heart to skip a beat. It had only been a little over a year since that night, but it felt like a different lifetime altogether.

The screaming intensified as a figure stepped through the swirling clouds rolling across the stage. The lights were low except for one spotlight, illuminating a single microphone stand. Two giant screens focused in on the figure and my heart jumped into my throat as the first words rang out.

Craning my neck to see the audience's reaction, my heart swelled with pride as they sang each lyric back to their idol. Only a few months before, I would have laughed if anyone had told me this would me my life. But now, here I was, relishing every single second of the craziness.

Once the concert was over, I retraced my steps through the corridors until I found myself back at the green room. Catching sight of the same petite, blonde lady who had shown me to the stage, I smiled over at her.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asked with a grin.

"Loved it!" I beamed back.

"Great," she continued, "Help yourself to food and drink, hope to see you again."

And then, she was gone. She was certainly efficient, but I guess she had to be, managing an arena as big as this one. Thousands of fans would currently be spilling out of the exits, searching for where they had parked their car or squeezing onto the first available tube train home. But they wouldn't notice the frost that lingered in the air over London. They wouldn't mind the waiting, the jostling crowds. Each one of them would still be buzzing, still on a high, like I was.

Grabbing myself a sorry-looking sandwich, I poured a coffee from the giant urn in the corner of the room. Glancing around, the room heaved with industry types and hangers-on. None of them knew me, and I didn't know any of them. This was going to take some getting used to. If I was Kris, I would have sashayed over to the nearest person and struck up conversation. But I wasn't Kris. I was just me, little old Abi, trying not to stick out too much in a strange, new, exciting yet terrifying world.

Trying to look casual, I took a seat in the corner and pulled out my phone.

That was incredible!! I typed, tapping the screen rapidly with one hand. Never known a feeling like it!

As I watched the small dots of a reply bounce in front of my eyes, a voice caused me to look up.

"Abi?"

She was even more beautiful in person than I had expected, based only on photos and glossy music videos. "I'm so pleased you could come, did you love it?"

Of course I'd loved it. Arla Breeze was one of the biggest acts in the world. To witness her singing the song I had written for her new album had blown my mind clean out of my skull.

"It was amazing! You were amazing!" I gushed.

"That's so sweet, thank you," she smiled, pulling a long, thick clip-in ponytail off her head as she shook her natural chin-length hair loose. "I'm so glad PCJ put your song forward for me, it's perfect. Did you seriously write that? I thought you'd be a lot... older."

Her smooth, tanned skin crumpled with the tiniest frown between her eyebrows, causing me to let out a nervous laugh.

"Guess I've been through a lot," I smiled.

After a few more pleasantries she thanked me again and swanned off to enjoy the after-party.

Swiping my phone unlocked as I shook my head to myself, I read the reply that had pinged through a few minutes before.

So fucking proud of you, Abi Bear!

I'm fucking proud of me too! I typed back, attaching a video clip of the concert that I knew Charlotte would love.

She would also be seething that she hadn't been able to come. Since baby Erin had arrived just a couple of weeks before, Charlotte's life had become consumed by nappies, breastfeeding, and sleepless nights. It had been even harder for her with Alex back on a European tour with The Ambition.

The thought of Alex led me to think of Noah once again. God, I missed him being around. I glanced down at my phone again. 10:39pm. The boys would be on a plane right now probably, heading to Amsterdam for the next gig on their tour schedule. Not that I'd memorised the itinerary from the Internet or anything...

Heading out into the night air, the venue had long since cleared, only a few fans still hanging around in an attempt to meet their idol. None of them knew who I was as I walked past them, pulling my fur jacket tight around my body.

To them, Arla was the hero. She was the girl with the golden voice. The perfect pop star who sold millions of records worldwide and preached to young girls about believing in their dreams and being strong. But the heartache in her newest ballad was all mine.

When she sang about the boy who flew a million miles away, it wasn't her soul on display.

Each time she delivered the line about hiding behind a broken web of lies, it wasn't Arla that had battled with accepting the truth about the man she loved.

As she finished each chorus with a heartfelt message to the person she never knew could love her like he did, that was my message. My words.

But I loved hearing my lyrics fall from her lips. There aren't many rookie writers who would have been lucky enough to win the pitch Arla's management sent, but PCJ had been confident I could do it.

When I read the brief for myself, I knew the exact subject to write it about. After just one listen, her team had decided it was the exact song they'd been looking for. The song that was going to take her from teen idol to serious songstress. An 'Adele for the new generation', they had said.

I'd dreamt of writing for other people since I could remember, and now it was real. It was happening. Unlike the time Noah had performed one of my songs without permission, I now felt comfortable as the woman behind the words.

I scolded myself silently, as the bright red and blue sign of the underground station loomed in the darkness ahead. For God's sake, stop thinking about him. He's not around. Let it go.

As I stepped into the ticket hall, its stuffy warmth welcome after the chill of the February night outside, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Charlotte was lucky. A couple more minutes and I'd have been deep in the dreaded underground, avoiding the city types heading home after too many after-work drinks.

Glancing down at the screen, my stomach twisted with the sight of Noah's name and a giddy smile broke out across my face.

Amsterdam was too close not to see you :) In car from airport, can't wait to hear all about tonight. We've got 12 hours. Happy Valentine's Day x