The speakers crackled to life with the palm-muted chug of Suddenly, they weren’t just driving to a lake house in 2026; they were teenagers again, smelling of coconut sunscreen and cheap gasoline.

The CD reached its end with a mechanical click, leaving a ringing silence in the car.

Maya leaned back, the wind still whipping her hair. "Obviously."

As the final track——blasted through the flickering speakers, Leo glanced at Maya. She was air-drumming on the dashboard, looking exactly like the girl he’d met at a Fall Out Boy concert twenty years ago.

"No way," she grinned, sliding it into the dash. "Prepare for a time machine."

The windows of Leo’s beat-up 2004 sedan were rolled down so far they’d practically disappeared into the doors. In the passenger seat, Maya was digging through a spindle of scratched CDs until she found it: a Sharpie-labeled disc titled