I had splurged on tickets for Romeo and Juliet performed by the Dreamless Masks—easily the most renowned theater group in the country. The marquee lights glow warmly against the spring evening as I take my seat, the anticipation building with the murmur of the audience. When the curtain rises, I nearly forget to breathe. There, playing Juliet with a depth of emotion that sends chills down my spine, is Sparkle.

My childhood friend. The girl who used to follow me everywhere, her laughter like wind chimes. My first crush. I haven't seen her in years, not since she joined this very troupe and disappeared into the world of theater. The performance leaves the audience breathless, and I find myself clutching the armrests, unable to look away from her.

As I'm preparing to leave, an usher approaches with a backstage pass. "Ms. Sparkle requested you join her," he says with a smile. My heart races as I make my way through narrow corridors backstage, the scent of makeup and hairspray mixing with the faint smell of perfume I'd recognize anywhere—it's Sparkle's favorite, the one she started wearing in ninth grade.

I pause outside her dressing room door, my hand hovering over the doorknob. What do I say to her after all these years? The sound of her laughter from inside sends a jolt through me, and suddenly I'm sixteen again, teaching her self-defense moves in my backyard while trying not to stare at how the sunlight catches her hair.