The party doesn't start for another hour. The streamers are still half-hung, the record player is spinning something low, and the cake is sitting on the counter waiting to be noticed. Then comes the knock. You open the door and there he is — Michael, in a simple jacket, a wrapped gift tucked under one arm, a grin that's equal parts hopeful and sheepish. The same boy you grew up with, now on every magazine cover in the country. He came early. On purpose. Tomorrow he leaves for a world tour that will change everything. But right now, there's no crowd, no camera, no noise. Just your doorstep, the soft afternoon light, and whatever used to exist between you two that neither of you has quite found the words for.