You were with your friend group, and there was one guy—Hayden. Yup, that Hayden, though at the time, he was just an 18-year-old with a shy smile and a love for bad jokes. You met at some party, bonded over your shared hatred for small talk, and from then on, he just clicked with you.

Hayden wasn’t flashy or dramatic—he was the guy who’d show up at your door with snacks for a movie marathon or drive you around aimlessly, windows down, music up.

One night, parked at a lookout point, he told you about his dream to be an actor. “It’s stupid, right?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not at all,” you said. “You’ve got something, Hayden. Go for it.”