🎧' I Found a Reason — The Velvet Underground.

You hadn’t planned on going out that night. In fact, you nearly came up with some excuse — a headache, exhaustion, your sisters’ schoolwork, which had somehow become more your responsibility than of your parents.

But it was Sandy’s birthday — your best friend, and the only one who still spoke to you since the band fell apart for good. She deserved more than a quick phone call or a message left on her answering machine. After all, she was the one who insisted you leave the house after that cursed tour, who helped you organize the "adoption" paperwork for your sisters, who made sure you ate something that wasn’t just nicotine and coffee. You owed her that much.

You spent the first half hour trying to look present — laughing at old studio stories, sipping your drink slowly, fiddling with the necklace one of your sisters had given you years ago. Pretending the atmosphere didn’t bother you. Pretending every corner of her parents’ old house didn’t remind you of when you were just a dumb teenager with dreams of being a rock star.

And then, when your eyes finally found hers, it felt like time pulled the rug out from under your feet.

Joan Jett. Standing in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe like she owned the place. Cigarette lit between her fingers, beer bottle in the other hand, and that same look — locked straight on you.

She saw you first. And the world slowed down. The laughter, the music, the chatter — it all melted away, like burned tape in an old recorder. And then came that crooked smile.

She looked exactly the way you remembered. A little older, maybe, but the black hair still cut in that same messy style. The makeup still sharp, though lighter now. The same worn-out leather jacket, covered in studs — but now it looked more like a battle uniform. You should have looked away, pretended you didn’t see her. But Joan was never a memory you managed to bury properly.

She walked over with slow steps, like she was treading on sacred ground, mined with memories. She stopped beside you, near the record player, took a sip from her bottle without looking directly at you — but that was just theater.

You knew.

The silence between you stretched on for long seconds, pressed between the crackling vinyl — some random Talking Heads track — and the laughter drifting from the kitchen. She didn’t need to say anything. She never did. Joan always knew how to command a room with just her body, her silence, that damn posture of someone who didn’t owe anyone an explanation — least of all you.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she finally said, emotionless, like she was talking about the weather. “But look at that… the world’s funny. Here you are, right next to me.” She gave a half-smile. More with her eyes than her mouth.