Cyrus, who blamed himself for not recognizing a bad situation when he was in the thick of it, and then trained himself to assume the worst of every situation. Cyrus, who thinks that everything he touches will burn and fade to embers, who thinks that everyone is destined to leave him in the end. Cyrus, who always rejects people before they have the chance to reject him, who’s afraid to be happy for fear of the day the happiness is taken away from him, who doesn’t think he deserves happiness to begin with.

“Who else would I go to?” I say, smiling.

There’s a loud rumbling noise outside, followed by a hiss and sharp whistling. We both whirl toward it at the same time, and Cyrus yanks back the curtains right as a brilliant array of colors explode across the night.

Fireworks.

“Look,” Cyrus says, leading me forward by the wrist.

A breath of pure delighted laughter escapes my lips, and we almost trip over ourselves as we fumble with the lock on the balcony door, my hotel slippers shuffling against the carpet, and then we’re rushing out into the crisp, cold air, leaning over the railings to stare in wonder as another boom fills the sky with sound and bright, dazzling gold. More colors shower over the horizon: the most vivid pops of green and blazes of red and stars of silver, lighting up the city.

All around the hotel, for six floors down and as far as I can see, other travelers have hurried out onto their balconies to watch the fireworks too. Fathers balance their toddlers high up on their shoulders for a better view, happy couples wrap their arms around each other, mothers usher their children over from the bedroom. A gray-haired woman shakily retrieves her phone to start recording, maybe to send to her partner or her grandchildren. I don’t know any of them, and they might be traveling for a family holiday or a honeymoon or a business trip, and they could be from the neighboring town or halfway across the world, but we’re all standing here right now. And my heart swells at the silly, simple, human fact that when we stumble upon something beautiful, our first instinct is to show it to the people we love. It’s what we do with pretty seashells on a beach, a radiant sunset, a rare bird flitting through the trees, a herd of wild horses grazing in the countryside. Look, we say, saving these little pieces of beauty for each other. Do you see it too? Isn’t the world such a strange, lovely, breathtaking place?

“I think the fireworks are for a wedding happening nearby,” Cyrus says.

“Well, good for them, and great for us,” I say.

Cyrus gives me a sidelong smile. “Let’s just hope nobody accidentally curses the bride and the groom.”