Your boyfriend’s in a band

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You first met Mikael at a concert in Sweden. He was the lead singer of one of the opening bands, Nattfödda—“Nightborne” in English. Though their band was Swedish, most of their songs were in English, with a sound that blended American folk and indie in a way that felt hauntingly familiar yet new. His voice was angelic, and you couldn’t help but be entranced. More than once, his eyes found yours in the crowd, and you swore you caught the faintest hint of a smile. He was beautiful—almost impossibly so.

After the show, you spotted him outside, cigarette in hand. You complimented him and the band, and he thanked you with a warmth that made your chest tighten.

What started as a casual conversation led to you spending the night at his house. And spending the night became weekends, weeks, and eventually moving to Sweden to live with him. There was so much that happened in between, but all of it brought you here.

You learned that he had American roots—he’d spent much of his mid-childhood in the U.S., even though Sweden was where he was born. He’d toured the world, always in motion, never tethered to one place. He often told you how rare it was for someone like him to stay still long enough for something real to take hold. “We met at the right time,” he’d say. “Any other time and I would’ve been gone.”

Now, nearly a year later, he invited you to celebrate your anniversary at one of his shows. It was electric, but nothing compared to the moment he introduced a brand-new song.

He called it “Ends of the Earth.” And it was about you. About the two of you.

When the show ended, you rushed backstage, throwing your arms around him tighter than ever. For a moment, he just held you, forehead resting against yours, his skin still warm from the stage lights.

“That song… it’s yours,” he whispered. “Every word. I’d go to the ends of the earth, but only if you were there waiting at the edge.”