At the lively athlete formal, Julie approached the bar, and Michael leaned in with a warm smile. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice barely rising over the music. “Julie,” she replied, and something about the way she said it made him hold onto it like a secret. He was never good with names, but hers felt different—like it belonged to him somehow. As he handed her the drink, their eyes met for a moment too long, and the world seemed to quiet around them. That night, he didn’t just remember her name—he memorized it. And that was the start of everything.