It’s the first Saturday since my final school year started. And the night hit with a surprising chill, nothing like the warmer days we’d had all week.

The sky stretched out perfect and clear, like someone had wiped away every cloud just for tonight. A tiny slice of moon hung up there, barely enough to cast any light but somehow still catching my eye as it climbed higher. I pulled my jacket tighter, making me wish I’d grabbed my thicker hoodie instead of trying to look cute.

“I still can’t believe I’m actually going to this party,” I mutter, tugging at the hem of my dress as Ferdinand and I walk down the street.

Ferdinand adjusts his mop-top wig for the tenth time. “Come on, Bec. It’s just one night. Besides, you weren’t doing anything else.”

“I could map Cassiopeia, actually.” I glance up at the darkening sky, where stars are beginning to emerge. “The viewing conditions are perfect tonight.”

“The stars will still be there tomorrow,” Ferd says, flicking his fake bangs out of his eyes. “Unlike this party, which is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

I snort. “A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to watch you pretend to be Paul McCartney? You look ridiculous, by the way.”

“John Lennon,” he corrects, looking wounded. “And it is a surprise for Amanda. The whole band’s doing it. Beatles tribute for her birthday. She’s obsessed.”

“So I’ve gathered.” I study him sideways. “You’re really going all out to impress her.”

His cheeks flush slightly. “It’s not like that. It’s just… important to fit in with the band, you know?”

“Right,” I say, unconvinced.

“So,” he says, a little too casually, “any updates on Sophie and George’s big anniversary mystery night?”

“Not really. She left earlier with him, dressed up and everything. Olivia said he asked for her curfew to be extended, so… probably some fancy restaurant or whatever.”

“Ah, yes. Candlelit pasta and late-night strolls. How original.” His tone is sharp, even though he’s clearly trying to sound like he doesn’t care.

“Don’t do this, Ferd.” I sigh. “I know it bothers you, but they’re happy. And she really likes him.”

“It doesn’t bother me anymore,” he says too fast. “I just think she deserves better, that’s all.”

I give him a look, but before I can say anything, we turn a corner and arrive at the party. The modest suburban house is transformed by coloured lights strung across the front garden, and teenagers spill out onto the lawn, red cups in hand.

“Here we go,” Ferdinand mutters, squaring his shoulders like a soldier heading into battle.

The backyard is filled with vaguely familiar faces and the smell of great food. I look around trying to understand how this is a birthday party for one single person. Fairy lights crisscross overhead, casting a glow over the makeshift stage where two people, both also in Beatles wigs, are setting up instruments. A table filled with snacks and drinks stands near the back door, a big 16 in helium balloons floating behind it, surrounded by a cluster of girls laughing over something on a phone.

A guy bounds over like an excited golden retriever, greeting Ferd, and me, with way too much familiarity.

“Ferd! Rebecca! You actually made it!” he grins, pulling me into a quick hug before I can react. “Told Amanda you’d bring your other friends, but she didn’t believe me.”

“Um, thanks?” I mumble, awkwardly patting his back. Do I know him? Apparently, I do. Or I’m supposed to. His hair looks like a natural version of Ferdinand’s Beatles wig. Same shaggy shape, but actually good. I smile like I know what’s going on.

“Where’s Sophie and… what’s his name again?”

“George,” Ferd says, his eyes already rolling. “Fancy dinner. Anniversary.” Flat tone. Totally unbothered. Obviously.

“Oh, bummer. Next time, then,” the Beatle twin says, perking right back up. “So we’re doing just the quick mash of Birthday and I Saw Her Standing There.” He looks straight at me. “It’s gonna be awesome!”

“Sounds fun,” I say, trying to fake enthusiasm while shooting Ferd a silent ‘who is this guy’ look.

“Mandy’s inside,” he goes on. “She’s gonna lose it when she sees the whole band ready to go.”

“Let’s go say hi to the rest of the guys.”

“You go ahead,” I say, already inching toward the table full of cups and bottles. “I need a drink first.”

In truth, I’m already on overload. Everyone seems to know me, or know of me, and I don’t know any of them. I don’t even know their names.

As the night drags on, I fade further into the background. Ferdinand has fully morphed into band-mode. He’s grinning, buzzing, surrounded by people who actually speak his new language. Meanwhile, I hover at the edges of conversations, nodding when it feels right and trying not to check the time every five minutes.

I slip inside the house under the pretence of looking for the toilet. Instead, I duck into the TV room. Finally: quiet.

I sink onto the couch, pull out my phone, and open a text thread with my mum. “Hey Mum. Where are you this weekend?” But of course, minutes pass with no response. Still, it feels better pretending I’m talking to someone.

“You know the party’s outside, right?”

I jump, startled. This guy is standing by the door, looking at me with a confused expression on his face.

“I was just… answering my phone.” I hold it up like proof.

He tilts his head. “In complete silence, with your home screen open?”

I glance down. Yep. Busted.

“Okay, fine. I was hiding.”

“From what? The music’s not that bad.” He steps further into the room, his presence somehow casual and full at the same time.

“It’s not the music,” I say. “Just… not really my scene. I’m more of a stargazing-on-Saturday-nights kind of person.”

“Stargazing?” His interest seems real as he settles onto the opposite end of the couch. “Like with a telescope and everything?”

“Yeah. Tonight would’ve been perfect for mapping Cassiopeia.”

“The constellation that looks like a wonky W?” He traces the shape in the air with his finger.

I can’t hide my surprise. “You know constellations?”

“Just the basics. My dad was into astronomy.” He smiles. “I’m Daniel, by the way.”

“Rebecca.” I add, although he is not looking at me anymore.

He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV, flicking through the channels like it’s a habit, like he does this everywhere he goes, finds the quiet and makes it his. Is he also hiding? Is it okay if I stay here?

I’m still debating if I should stay or return to the party when he speaks again.

“How do you know my sister?” he asks, eyes still on the screen.

“Your sister?” I echo.

“The one with the very short pink dress, but also known as the birthday girl.”

“Ah! Sorry, I don’t actually know her,” I say, a bit embarrassed. “I’m here with my friend. He just got in her band, and he invited me over today.”

“Oh I see… One of the Beatles out there?”

I nod. “Ferdinand. He’s John Lennon tonight.”

“Ah, the intellectual Beatle. Good choice.”

I smile at him but I don’t know what else to say. I‘m definitely intruding too much. I should go back outside.

But Daniel stops on a channel showing Arctic Monkeys performing live and my body sinks heavy into the couch like making a statement, my attention immediately drifting to the TV.

“You into them?” He asks noticing my eyes locked on the TV.

“Big yeah! One of my favourite bands. And ‘505’ gets me every time.”

His eyes light up. “No way! Most people just know them by ‘Why’d You Only Call Me.’”

I laugh. “That is a good one too, but there’s a lot more to them.” Who is this girl? It sounds like I actually know how not to be socially awkward. “That album got me through my physics midterms last year.”

“Physics? So you’re not just into stars, you’re into how the universe works?” He sounds impressed.

“I’m still battling between studying astronomy or architecture, actually. The physics helps with understanding both the universe and structural integrity.”

“That’s so cool!” Daniel leans forward slightly. “I’m studying culinary arts in Paris, but I’ve always been fascinated by buildings. There’s something about creating spaces that feels similar to creating dishes.”

“How so?” I ask, intrigued.

“Both are about balance and composition.” His enthusiasm is contagious. “Like, I made some appetisers for tonight’s party. Each one needs structural integrity, visual appeal, and flavour balance.”

“Wait… so you made those little pastry things with the cheese?” I ask, remembering how delicious they were.

“Goat cheese and caramelised onion tartlets,” he says, like he’s letting me in on a secret. “You liked them?”

“They were amazing. I had three,” I admit.

He laughs, the sound warm and contagious. “Only three? I’m offended.”

We fall into easy conversation, the flicker of the TV casting warm light across the room. Arctic Monkeys hum in the background, low and steady. I don’t know how it happens, but I’m suddenly telling him way more than I usually do with someone I just met.

“So it’s just you and your dad?” he asks after I mention Dad’s furniture workshop as one of the reasons why architecture is one of my college options.

“Not anymore,” I say. “He kind of… remarried? Not on paper, but they’ve been living together since I was eleven. I’ve got a step-sister, Sophie, and a little half-brother named Arthur.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “That’s a jump. How was that?”

“It was weird for like a week,” I admit. “But Sophie and I were already best friends, even before our parents even got together. Then they told us we’d all be living together, and Olivia, that’s Sophie’s mum, was pregnant.”

“So you scored a sister and a brother at the same time!” he adds while nodding, like he is impressed. There’s a beat, then he asks, “What about your mum?”

And just like that, I go quiet.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he adds quickly. “Didn’t mean to get too deep. Your family just sounds… cool. Different.”

“No, it’s okay.” I clear my throat before continuing. “My mum’s just… complicated. She’s a model. Travels all the time. We talk sometimes, but she’s not really…” I pause to try to find the right words, ”around much.”

“That must be rough.”

I shrug. “It’s always been like that. Dad filled in all the blanks.”

Why was I even saying all this?

“What about you?” I ask, needing to shift the spotlight. “Got any more siblings?”

“Nope. Just me and Amanda,” he says. “Standard setup. Dad’s a scientist-turned-finance guy, Mum teaches music, mostly piano now. Amanda got the music gene. I, tragically, did not.”

“You’ve got cooking genes!”

He laughs. “True. You can say I got that from my mum. My Nonna, actually. Mum doesn’t like to cook much anymore. She says English shops aren’t the same as back home.”

“Back home?”

“Mum’s Italian.”

“And you live in Paris.”

“I’d have chosen Milan, but I didn’t get into that school.” He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I nod, smiling, but I’m back with that awkward feeling of self-conscious again. He is a polyglot, rich genius who has his life together. And I’m sitting here talking about my messy family. Great. I must be boring him to death.

But he keeps talking.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve stayed around and picked something more practical.”

“Like what?”

“Business, maybe. Something with more stability than the restaurant world.”

I tilt my head, trying to seem smart enough to have something useful to say. “But would you actually be happy?”

He looks at me, his deep blue eyes locking onto mine and sending a chill down my spine.

“I don’t think I would. But I also can’t say I’m over the moon about my Paris life.”

“I get you.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “People just say ‘follow your passion’ like it’s that easy.”

“Ha, it would be easier with my parents’ support, that’s for sure.” He adds with a sarcastic laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“Dad thinks education is an investment. And he doesn’t exactly agree with investing in my chef career.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yep. So I have a full-time job on top of my full-time course.” He shrugs. “At least I have Nonna to pay my tuition.”

I stare at him. “That’s actually crazy.”

He laughs. “A little.”

“So you moved to Paris even though your parents didn’t want you to?”

“It’s my life. They don’t have a say in what I do anymore.”

He smiles with a proud confidence that makes my stomach flutter. I immediately try to ignore it.

He changes the subject. “They’re playing in London next month,” he says, pointing his head to the TV. “I’m trying to get tickets.”

“I’ve never seen them live,” I say.

“Me neither.” He hesitates. “But if I manage to get some, maybe… you’d want to come? As thanks for appreciating my tartlets.”

My mouth goes dry. Not from nerves. Well, okay, maybe from nerves too. But mostly because I wasn’t expecting this twist.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “That’d be cool.”

“Cool.” He pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number? For the concert plans.”

I rattle off the digits, still a little stunned. His hands are warm when our fingers brush as he grabs his phone back.

And just like that, I realize with a start that I’d completely forgotten about Ferdinand and the party outside. For the first time in my life, the stars weren’t the most interesting thing in my universe.

I slip back outside just in time to see Ferd playing. No one noticed I’ve been gone, which is fine by me. I’ve had a much better night than I expected.

And the band is pretty good. I knew Ferd could play and sing, but seeing them all together is something else. I notice Amanda dancing in front of them. I also notice how Ferd keeps looking at her, his cheeks going bright red every time she looks back.

Soon after, Daniel reappears from inside the house carrying this absurdly fancy cake. I wonder if it’s his creation too. Our eyes meet for a second across the garden, and he gives me this small, lopsided smile. That flutter again. I want to punch it away.

In our way back home, Ferd and I don’t talk for a while. I keep glancing at him. I want to ask why he even invited me if he was going to merge into band mode and literally forget about me. But maybe I already know the answer.

“God, I was so nervous,” he says suddenly. “First time playing. First time… with that whole group.”

He’s still wearing the wig, fiddling with the edge of it like it might help him think.

“And you smashed it,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Wig included.”

His smile cracks wide open. “Knew you’d come around.”

I kick a loose stone ahead of us, watching it skitter off the path. “Nice to see you moving on from Soph. But maybe this time, don’t wait forever to say something?”

He blinks at me. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

I give him a look. “Amanda. Duh. You were glowing every time she looked your way.”

His face goes bright red under the street lights. “No way! She’s… she’s just a friend.”

“Right. Just a friend. Never heard that before.”

He stares at his shoelaces like they hold the answer to life.

When I get home, the first thing I do is search for Daniel online. I find him in five seconds and stare at the “Follow” button for about three of those, then chicken out and just scroll.

His profile is public but there is not much to see. Some group photos, food stuff, one photo of him in a chef’s coat looking too effortlessly cool. People calling him talented, or sweet, or handsome. Typical.

Maybe he was just being polite tonight. Maybe he smiles like that at everyone. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Still, I sit there with my phone in my hand. Waiting for him to text. Or for a magical follow request to pop up. Not that I care. I mean, I guess I do care a little.

I put my phone face down and tell myself I’m going to sleep.

Thirty seconds later, I check it again.

Still nothing.

Great. Apparently, this is who I am now.