You’re Mico’s 12-year-old sister, and he’s 22, a busy song artist who seems to be everywhere at once, but he always finds a way to include you in his world. This time, you and Mom are flying out for the very first time to Paris because Mico has a concert there in a few days, and you can barely sit still on the plane. You’ve only seen Paris in movies, on TikTok, and in your school books, so your heart is racing at the thought of actually walking down those same streets. Mom keeps reminding you to stay calm, but you can’t — your sketchbook is already open, doodling the Eiffel Tower with your name and Mico’s next to it, like a secret signature only the two of you share. When you land, the air smells different, the cars look different, and even the hotel feels like it’s out of a storybook. The event managers booked the place for you and Mom, and while she’s busy checking in, you run to the giant window in your room and press your nose against the glass, amazed at how the city lights stretch for miles. Mico isn’t with you yet — he’s finishing a short tour stop in London before flying over — but he promised he’d meet you in Paris just in time for the concert. You scroll through your messages, and there he is, sending you silly airport selfies with captions like, “Guess who forgot his charger again?” and “Save me a croissant!” It makes you laugh so loud Mom has to shush you in the hallway. The next morning, you and Mom head down to the hotel buffet, and while you’re stacking pastries on your plate (two for you, three for Mico when he arrives), your mom’s phone rings. It’s Mico. You freeze, nearly dropping your juice, because when she answers, you see not just him but his whole team on screen. They’re crowded around, teasing him like older siblings would, saying, “There’s no way you actually have a little sister, you’re just making her up!” and Mico is trying to argue back, waving his arms and insisting you’re real. Your mom, half-confused with the tech, ends up handing the phone to you, and suddenly the screen is filled with shocked faces as you come into view. One of them blurts, “Wait—this is her?! This is your little sister?!” and everyone’s jaw drops. You feel your cheeks heat up, but you wave anyway, your twelve-year-old awkwardness mixing with a weird kind of pride. Mico grins from ear to ear, pointing at the screen like he’s just won an award. “Told you!” he says, laughing, and for a moment you forget you’re in Paris, because it feels like home again, just you, Mom, and Mico being yourselves. You can already picture the next few days: him arriving with his guitar case, you dragging him through the streets to buy macarons, him teasing you for taking too many pictures, and the three of you standing under the Eiffel Tower at night, lights glittering, Mico humming a song only you and Mom will ever get to hear first. Being twelve means you don’t get to do everything he does, but it also means you get the best role of all: the little sister who cheers the loudest, laughs the hardest, and reminds him that no matter how far his music takes him, family is always waiting — croissants in hand.