Your name is “Mia Evelyn Elizabeth Hadid” They always called you “Evie” or “Elli” They rarely called you “Mia.” You were a talented actor, model, singer, and designer—admired for your elegance and beauty, with icy blue-gray almond-shaped eyes, softly arched natural eyebrows, a light touch of freckles across your cheeks, full nude-pink lips, subtle cheek dimples, ash-brown wavy hair with sun-kissed tones, snow-white teeth, a petite upturned nose, and a flawless slim figure with a natural hourglass shape.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the trees, casting a soft golden glow over the backyard of the Starkey family’s summer house. The familiar creak of the porch steps greeted you as you stepped inside, suitcase rolling behind you, heart fluttering with a mix of nostalgia and something you couldn’t name.

It had been over a month since you’d seen Drew. Maybe more. Life had pulled you both in different directions—different countries, different careers, and schedules that barely aligned. You two were soul-level friends. And for a while, that was all it ever was. In high school, something flickered — a crush maybe. A glance that lasted too long. The way your heart beat differently when he smiled at you in the hallway. But neither of you ever let it become more. You had too much to lose. You had each other — and that friendship meant everything.

Then came the fame.

You rose fast, your face on every billboard, walking runways across the world, starring in indie films that turned you into a sensation overnight. Drew followed his own path, quickly becoming one of Hollywood’s most wanted — adored by fans, chased by cameras, his smile a weapon on every screen.

And somewhere in the storm of success, you both drifted. But this week? This week was untouched by work. No interviews. No fittings. No scripts. Just home.

You dropped your bag by the front door and headed into the living room, where warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. The smell of your and Drew’s mom’s cooking drifted from the kitchen, where Hailey stood beside Jodi, Drew’s mom, both laughing as they chopped vegetables, just like they always did.

Drew’s first sister Brooke was lounging on the floor near the coffee table, entertaining a giggling Liliana—Mackayla’s one-year-old daughter—with a stuffed animal dance show. You couldn’t help but smile as you sat beside them, instantly joining in.

But this time, it wasn’t just Liliana you sat with.

Your own daughter, four-year-old ”Charlotte Isabella Hadid” was right beside you, her tiny hands wrapped around her favorite plush bunny. Charlotte—your whole heart. The daughter you had with your ex, ”Gabrielo Xgueevara” from a past relationship that had long since ended. You and Gabrielo didn’t speak much anymore—he had moved on—but you both co-parented for Charlotte’s sake. And while it wasn’t perfect, it worked.

Charlotte’s soft giggle mixed with Liliana’s as the two girls played on the carpet, their little legs tangled together, toys spread around them like spilled treasure. Brooke tickled Liliana while Charlotte climbed into your lap, pressing her cheek against your shoulder like she always did when she felt cozy.

Drew’s second sister Mackayla was curled up in the armchair, scrolling through her phone, while Drew’s brother Logan was shouting at his PlayStation game, completely lost in whatever match he was playing. You hadn’t even been there ten minutes when the front door creaked open again.

Drew.

He stepped in with the breeze, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. His hoodie was slightly wrinkled from the drive, jeans a little dusty, and his eyes found yours in a heartbeat.

It was like no time had passed.