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“Come on, it’s ringing,” George said, nudging Myst gently with his shoulder as they sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of her hotel suite. His phone was propped precariously on a stack of coasters, the screen showing a spinning circle while the video call connected.

“Okay, okay,” Myst murmured, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in her flowy blouse for the third time. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem as she glanced at George, her pale blue eyes wide with nerves. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Impossible,” George said without missing a beat. He reached out and gave her knee a reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing against the soft fabric of her leggings. “Mum’s gonna love you. Just be yourself.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Myst muttered under her breath, but before she could spiral any further, the screen lit up, and a warm, smiling face appeared.

“George!” The voice was unmistakably Australian, rich with affection.

A woman with sandy blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun leaned closer to the camera.

Behind her, the cosy kitchen of the Dennis family home came into view; warm wooden cabinets, a fridge cluttered with magnets, and the faint sound of a kettle boiling in the background.

“Oh, it’s good to see your face, love! And this must be Myst!

I have been absolutely dying to meet you, sweetheart. ”

“Hi, Mrs. Dennis,” Myst said quickly, her voice bright but a little shaky. She gave a small wave, her delicate hand hovering awkwardly near her face. “It’s so nice to meet you… well, sort of meet you.”

“Call me Julie, sweetheart,” George’s mum said, her smile widening. “I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you. My boy can’t stop talking about you, actually.”

“That’s enough, Mum,” George cut in, his cheeks flushing slightly. He scratched the back of his neck and shot Myst a sheepish grin.

“Don’t ‘enough’ me, George,” Julie teased, waving him off. “Myst, you’re absolutely stunning! And I know you’ve got the voice of an angel. Can’t wait to meet you properly when you come to visit us.”

“Thank you,” Myst replied, her voice softer now, the tension easing from her shoulders. Something about Julie’s warmth felt disarming, genuine, and Myst found herself smiling more easily. “I’m really looking forward to it too.”

“Good girl,” Julie said approvingly. “Now, George, make sure you don’t scare her off before then. Don’t let her eat any of your cooking…”

“Alright, alright,” George interrupted, groaning playfully as Myst giggled beside him. “We’ll chat later, yeah? Love you, Mum.”

“Love you too, darling,” Julie said, blowing a kiss to the screen before the call ended.

“See? Told you she’d love you,” George said, turning to Myst with a triumphant grin.

“She’s amazing,” Myst admitted, her eyes still glued to the now-blank screen. “And your accent gets even stronger when you talk to her. It’s adorable.”

“Oi,” George protested, though his grin only widened. “You better watch it, or I won’t buy you that souvenir at the souk.”

The next morning, Myst and George strolled side by side through the bustling Old Souk.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of saffron, oud, and freshly baked flatbreads.

Vendors called out in melodic tones, their voices weaving through the vibrant tapestry of colours around them, from tacky plastic souvenirs to bolts of silk, intricate lanterns, and rows of glittering jewellery.

“Look at this one,” Myst said, stopping abruptly at a stall displaying delicate silver bracelets. She picked one up, the tiny filigree patterns catching the light as she turned it over in her hands. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Not bad,” George said, squinting at it as if appraising its quality. “But you’re supposed to haggle, aren’t you? Go on, then.”

“Me? Oh, I’m terrible at haggling,” Myst said with a laugh, but the mischievous glint in her eye told another story. She turned to the vendor, her expression suddenly serious. “Alright, how much for this bracelet?”

“Three hundred dirhams,” the man replied with a practiced smile.

“Three hundred?” Myst gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “I could buy half a plane ticket for that!”

“Half a very small plane,” George quipped under his breath, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“One fifty,” Myst countered, ignoring him. “And I’ll throw in a signed CD.”

“Two hundred,” the vendor said after a moment, clearly entertained by her antics. “No play CDs. Use Spotify.”

George had to laugh at that. Myst elbowed him again.

“Stop it, you’re not helping. One seventy five, final offer!”

The vendor seemed happy with that price, nodding and holding his hand out.

“Deal,” Myst declared before turning to George with a smug grin. “See? Not terrible.”

“Not bad at all,” George admitted, handing over the cash before Myst could reach for her wallet. He clasped the bracelet around her wrist himself, his large hands gentle. “There. A souvenir for when you miss me.”

“Cheeky,” Myst said, but her tone was soft as she admired the bracelet, her fingers brushing lightly over the cool metal. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” George said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before steering her toward the next stall.

By afternoon, they were drifting along Dubai Creek in a traditional abra boat, the city’s towering skyline reflected in the shimmering water around them.

Myst leaned against George’s side, snapping selfies as he tried, and failed, to keep his eyes open against the glare of the sun and the jetlag which was beginning to make its effects felt.

“Alright, mate,” he said to the boat operator after a while. “What’s the most authentic dish I should try?”

“Machboos,” the man answered without hesitation. “It’s chicken and rice,” he elaborated when George asked the question.

“Sounds good,” George said, though the moment the plate arrived at their dinner table that evening, he hesitated. “Uh… is it supposed to look like that?”

“Don’t be rude,” Myst chided, laughing as she watched him poke at the fragrant rice and spiced meat with his fork. “At least try it.”

“Fine,” George grumbled, taking a cautious bite. His face twisted immediately, and Myst doubled over in laughter.

“Not a fan?” she managed between giggles.

“Let’s just say my taste buds weren’t ready,” George said, pushing the plate toward her. “Your turn.”

“Gladly,” Myst said, taking a bite and humming appreciatively. “Mmm, delicious. Guess that’s why they call it taste buds, you have to actually have some.”

“Alright, alright,” George said, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his grin. “Just don’t tell Mum, yeah? She’ll never let me live it down.”

They ate slowly, talking and laughing between bites, sharing plates. It was a small restaurant with a little outside courtyard, and after a while it was just the two of them sitting there, alone in the quiet.

Myst leaned back in her chair and looked up at the skyscrapers towering into the night sky. “Do you ever think about how small we are?” she murmured, her voice almost wistful. “Like, here… none of the noise matters. Not the cameras, or the schedules, or… anything. It’s just us.”

“Yeah,” George said, his gaze fixed on her instead of the sky. “I think about it all the time.”

She turned to him, her expression shifting slightly. “But then the noise always comes back, doesn’t it?” Her words hung in the air for a moment, heavy despite the gentle way she’d spoken them.

“Hey,” George said, leaning forward and resting a hand on her knee. “What’s going on?”

Myst hesitated, biting her lip before finally letting the words spill out.

“Sometimes it feels like my life’s being pulled in a hundred different directions.

The tour, the album, interviews, appearances…

I love what I do, George. I really do. But then I think about you, and us, and.

..” She stopped, exhaling sharply. “I don’t want to lose you because I can’t figure out how to balance it all. ”

“Hey.” His hand slid from her knee to clasp her smaller one, his thumb brushing soothing circles against her skin.

“You’re not gonna lose me, alright? We’ve got our own crazy lives, sure.

But if we want this to work, we’ll figure it out.

I’m not looking for perfect, Myst. I’m only looking for you . ”

Her pale eyes shimmered, catching the glow of the lanterns. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Doesn’t mean it will be,” he admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I reckon we’re worth the effort.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Myst tilted her head, her lips curving into that familiar, mischievous grin. “You’re annoyingly good at saying the right thing, you know that?”

“Don’t get used to it,” George quipped, though his grin softened into something more earnest. “Seriously, though. I’m in this, Myst. All the way.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand before letting out a soft laugh. “Okay, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.” She looked serious.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Dealing with all the media drama once they find out about us. I’m getting tired of hiding and it’s going to come out sooner or later, and then there’ll be a feeding frenzy, paparazzi trying to get snaps of us together...”

“Then let’s stop hiding,” George said simply.

Myst blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s take control of the narrative.

Go public on our terms, not theirs. If we walk into your afterparty together hand-in-hand, they’ve got nothing left to speculate about, right?

You called it on your Instagram post, let’s go a step further and show my face this time.

Let them take all the pictures they want. ”

“That’s… bold,” she said, her brows drawing together as she considered it. “Are you sure you’re ready for that kind of attention?”

“Doesn’t matter if I am,” George replied steadily. “What matters is whether we are. And I think we are.”