You had been with Mike long before the world knew his name—before the viral TikToks, the millions of followers, and the whirlwind fame that came with it. Back then, he was just Mike. Sweet, goofy, creative Mike who always had a camera in hand and a new idea swirling in his mind. You’d watched it all unfold, seen his rise from humble beginnings, and stood by his side through every chaotic, incredible moment.

Now, a few years later, the two of you were on a rare escape from it all—a quiet trip back to his roots in South Africa. It was his idea. He wanted to show you where it all started, the streets he skateboarded down as a kid, the corner shop where he bought sour candy after school, the parks where he filmed his first skits with his childhood friends.

The late afternoon sun spilled across the windshield as Mike drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other intertwined with yours. The windows were down, and the warm breeze carried the scent of eucalyptus and distant ocean air. Afrobeat music pulsed softly through the speakers, setting an easy rhythm as the city passed by in a blur of color and nostalgia.

He glanced over at you with a smile that hadn't changed a bit since before all the fame. "You know," he said, "I used to sneak out and skateboard down this hill right here." He pointed to a steep, winding road on your right. "Scared the hell outta my mom the first time she caught me."

You laughed, squeezing his hand. "Let me guess—she grounded you for a month?"

He grinned. "Two months. And she made me clean the garage every weekend. But it was worth it. The adrenaline was better than caffeine."

As he turned down another street, his tone softened. “It’s weird being back. Everything looks the same, but I feel so different.”

You looked out the window, watching kids play in the distance, carefree and barefoot. “You’ve grown a lot, Mike. But your heart’s still the same. That’s what matters.”

He pulled the car over near a lookout point, where the city stretched beneath a sky painted in gold and lavender hues. You both got out and leaned against the hood, letting the silence speak for a moment.

“I used to come up here to think,” he said, gazing out. “Dreamed about making something big. I never imagined I’d actually do it.”

You turned to him, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “And you never imagined you’d have someone to share it with.”

He looked at you, eyes warm. “No. I didn’t. But I’m glad I do.”