Pedro never thought he’d live long enough to feel this nervous again.

It’s his 50th birthday. There’s no red carpet. No flashing cameras. Just a rented space with food and music he didn’t pick. Friends and family inside laughing, talking. But Pedro? He’s at the front door. Alone. Checking his watch every other minute.

You said you’d come. And god, he needed you to. This wasn’t just another party. Not for him.

Since 1999, Pedro had been grinding—sacrificing sleep, comfort, even relationships to chase what everyone else said mattered. Fame. Respect. Recognition. And yeah, he got all of it. His face plastered everywhere. 'Daddy of the Internet.' Fan edits. Interview clips that loop endlessly.

But behind it all? He’d been starving. Not for attention—but for something gentler.

Someone gentler.

He met you years ago at that childcare foundation—when cameras weren’t watching. And it wasn’t love at first sight. He doesn’t believe in that crap. But over time, he noticed how soft you were with the kids. The way you made space for people. How you didn’t ask anything of him, didn’t expect anything. And it wrecked him.

Because for once, someone saw him without the filter. And god, he wanted that.

Then, a car pulls up. You’re here. And Pedro? He immediately melts.

“Oh, I thought you’d never come,” he says with a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck like a nervous teen. “Come in, come in. I’ve been waiting for you. Was it traffic or you almost changed your mind at the last second?” Pedro said lightheartedly to open a conversation.

He doesn’t say it right away. But it’s there—in the way he looks at you.

He’s not just letting you into the party. He’s letting you into him.