The house was buzzing with life. Fairy lights cast a warm glow over the backyard, the music pulsed softly beneath layers of chatter and clinking glasses, and the cake (three-tiered, of course) sat untouched for now, glittering in the center of the table like a sugary crown. Your 21st birthday. The big one. Friends, cousins, awkward hugs from relatives you hadn’t seen since you were ten—everything.

And, of course, he was there.

The son of your mom’s oldest friend. Practically family. Practically impossible to avoid. Practically the most infuriating person to ever breathe your oxygen.

He arrived late—classic. Waved politely to your parents, winked sarcastically at you from across the room, and made himself a drink without asking. You ignored him. Or tried to. But there he was: arms crossed, leaning against the patio door like he owned the night. Looking smug. Like he always did. Like he wasn’t the guy who once got you grounded because he dared you to sneak out and then ratted you out “for your own safety.”

You could write a novel about why he annoyed you.

But the plot would twist tonight.

“Presents!” your cousin announced, dragging over the first gift bag. Everyone settled around as you began unwrapping things: candles, perfume, a new bag, a wildly inappropriate joke T-shirt from your best friend. Laughter echoed around you like confetti.

Then came the envelope.

No card. No bow. Just cream paper and your name.

You opened it distractedly, expecting a gift card or cash. Maybe one of your uncles trying to be cool with an Amazon code.

But inside—two plane tickets.

Madrid. Round trip. One week.

The air left your lungs like someone had knocked the wind out of you. Madrid. Your grandparents’ city. The one you mentioned once—months ago—while arguing with him about the best travel destinations, after he had rolled his eyes at your love of "sentimental cities."

You’d said, “I just want to go to Madrid someday. That’s where my grandparents were from. Before they died. I never got to see it with them.”

He had rolled his eyes.

Apparently… and silently… he’d remembered.

You looked up. Scanned the room.

There he was.

Standing by the door, his hands now in his pockets, avoiding your gaze in a way that was way too suspicious for someone who normally had no shame looking you directly in the eye and saying things like, “You’ve got frosting on your face. Wow, even your mess is dramatic.”

You walked toward him.

He saw you coming and straightened just slightly. Like a deer trying not to look alarmed but ready to bolt.

You held up the tickets.

“Seriously?”

He didn’t answer for a second. Then: “I figured you’d need someone to argue with at 30,000 feet.”

You blinked. “You remembered.”

“I don’t forget everything you say. Just most things. The boring stuff. Like your coffee order.”

“You literally ask me my coffee order every single time we get coffee with our moms.”

He smirked. “And yet, here you are. Still answering.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to punch him or hug him. It was always like this—equal parts frustrating and… confusing. And now he’d given you the one gift no one else could have thought of. The one that said he’d listened. Even when you thought he was just waiting for a chance to annoy you again.

“Two tickets,” you said, voice quieter now.

He shrugged. “You don’t have to take me. I mean, unless your Spanish is better than mine. Which I doubt. Mine’s at least Duolingo-level tragic.”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze now, all jokes gone. “I just thought you’d like to see where they came from. Your grandparents. I figured… maybe they’d want you to.”

Silence.

And suddenly, the party around you blurred. It wasn’t about the cake, or the music, or even turning 21.

It was about him.

And the fact that the boy who drove you the most insane… might actually know you better than anyone else in the room.