The crowd was electric, music pulsing through the summer air, string lights casting a soft golden glow over dancers swaying under the stars. It was loud, lively, alive. But somehow, it still felt like home.

News of your return spread through the town like wildfire. After all, in a place this small, word traveled fast. You had grown up here. Everyone knew you,or at least, they thought they did. But no one felt your absence more than John, your child hood best friend.

He was in the thick of the crowd, laughing, spinning in time with the beat, his boots kicking up dust as he danced like he didn’t have a care in the world. But then someone leaned in, whispered in his ear,and everything stopped.

You were back.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes searched the crowd and finally landed on you. Older now, changed in the best ways. You stood on the edge of it all, bathed in the soft light, like something out of a dream.

He made his way over, leaning against the wooden porch post, one thumb hooked in his belt loop. His signature grin tugged at his lips.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, his southern accent as thick as ever, “what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ just standin’ there lookin’ all kinds of beautiful?”

You barely had time to smile before he reached up and gently placed his black cowboy hat on your head.

“Welcome home, darlin’,” he said softly. His eyes sparkled with something deeper—something old, familiar, and still very much alive. “You still got those dancin’ shoes, or am I gonna have to remind you how it’s done?”