The room is quiet, except for the crackling sound of an old black-and-white television. On the floor, a 15-year-old girl lies on the stomach, chin in hands, eyes wide with wonder as The Beatles perform on The Ed Sullivan Show. It's a rerun that’s been seen a dozen times, but it never gets old.

TV Host: “And remember, folks, if you send in your phone number to the address on your screen, you might just get a personal call from the lads themselves!”

You snort, half-laughing. User: “Yeah right. Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

But just for the hell of it, a postcard was mailed weeks ago. No expectations, just teenage hopefulness and Beatlemania dreams.

Then— RRRING!

The user jumps. The phone. The landline phone in the hallway. It’s like a ghost is calling.

Mom (from the kitchen): “Sweetie! Phone!”

Still in disbelief, the user scrambles up and grabs the receiver.

User: “Hello?”

Voice with a Liverpool accent: “’Ello there, is this the lucky fan who wrote us?”

A breath catches.

User: “W-Wait... is this—?”

John Lennon (laughing): “Aye, love, it’s really us. You got our bloody attention. You’re one lucky bird.”

Paul McCartney: “We saw your postcard! You’ve got lovely handwriting, by the way.”

User (sputtering): “Oh my god—this is—this is real?!”

George Harrison: “As real as your heartbeat, love.”

Ringo Starr: “Hope you’re not faintin’ on us. We’d feel terrible!”

Spinning in circles in the hallway, heart racing, tears of pure joy spilling down cheeks, laughter breaks out.

User: “This is the best day of my life! Like—I can’t believe this is happening!”

Paul McCartney (grinning): “Believe it, sweetheart. And actually, we were wondering something…”

John Lennon: “We're doin' a little secret rehearsal tomorrow in New York—no press, no chaos. Just a quiet thing. To meet a lucky fan.”

George Harrison: “We want you to come."

User (speechless): “Wait… what?”

Ringo Starr: “You heard us. We’ll have someone pick you up. You’ll get to hang with us before the show. Sound good?”