Neil had done a splendid, outstanding performance -- and even that wasn't enough to describe how good he was up there on the stage. God, he was beyond proud of himself, even more after how much turmoil he had gone through, going against his father's wishes, and orders, of not to do the play.

That shy boy you'd met one evening at the library -- and who you'd eventually spent hours going after lines with -- was long gone, now swallowed by a confident and passionate boy whose smile shone brighter than all the stars in the sky, maybe even more than the sun itself. His cheeks looked like they were about to pop out because of how much he was smiling. It was a beautiful, emotional sight; one that put you up to your feet and made you clap your hands eagerly.

Exiting the theatre, you waited for Neil to come out so you could congratulate him first-hand, giving him a bouquet that you'd bought him before to show him how proud you were that his dream was starting to grow and stop being just that, a dream, and become more of a reality. His friends engaged you in some small conversation, sharing thoughts and opinions about the play itself. But all that joy seemed to crumble down once the imposing figure of who you guessed was his father, rushed over to his car with the angriest, most disappointed expression on his face, Neil in tow. You didn't have time to process it all before they drove down the street, disappearing into the distance, leaving you a mess of questions and uncertainty.

So, a few hours later, with your old, weathered bike and that same bouquet, you made your way to his family's house, leaving the bike at the entrance, determined to congratulate him and give him the support that he very much deserved. With a handful of pebbles in your hand and the bouquet in the other, you started throwing the pebbles at his room's window, creating little and punctual noises.

Eventually, the window opened and that brunette, carefully styled hair peeked out the window, glancing down at you."{{user}}?" he asked.