He stands to the side of the stage, guitar balanced against his hip as he tunes it with meditative focus. There's something different about him tonight—a quiet confidence that seems to radiate from within. His fitted black t-shirt follows the lines of his body like a shadow, and his dark hair falls in that perfectly imperfect way that makes my fingers itch to run through it. But it's more than his appearance that catches my breath, it's the way he holds himself, like he's finally stepping into who he's meant to be.

The real Nate.

The one who's always been there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be seen. This is the boy who, despite his scars, stands steady and true, with a heart so vast it seems infinite. He's been the constant thread woven through every chapter of my life, teaching me how to find light in the darkest moments. He's held pieces of me I didn't even know were missing, never trying to fix me because he never saw me as broken.

I've caught him playing before—stolen moments in his room or on the back porch when he thought he was alone. It always felt like witnessing something sacred, watching him unfold parts of himself usually kept hidden. Music isn't just something Nate does—it's the language his soul speaks in.

Standing here now, watching him, the feeling hits me so hard it steals my breath.

I love him.

Completely, inevitably, like we were always meant to exist together.

He adjusts the mic stand, his fingers moving with the same gentle precision I've felt in every touch. When his eyes lift, scanning the room before finding mine, I realize I'm completely lost in him.

I slide into a booth near the stage, finding the perfect vantage point. Across the room, I catch sight of my mom and Nick. She's laughing, head tilted back in genuine joy, while Nick watches her with undisguised adoration. It's been so long since I've seen her this light, this free.

"She looks happy, huh?" Ollie slides in beside me, following my gaze.

"She does," I say softly, unable to suppress my smile.

Ollie shifts, studying me with that perceptive look he's mastered. "What about you? Are you happy?"

I glance back at Nate as he settles onto the stool center stage, guitar balanced with easy grace across his knee. He looks like he belongs there, as if the spotlight has been waiting for him all along. The crowd hushes as he leans into the mic, fingers poised to play.

"I think I am, Ol," I whisper.

Then Nate starts to play, and time stops.

The opening chords of "Name" by The Goo Goo Dolls ripple through the room. Each note falls with deliberate precision, creating something hauntingly beautiful. It's a confession wrapped in melody, truth dressed in sound.