The night of the community art walk was warm and electric, with fairy lights strung between trees and music drifting through the air. The rec center had transformed into a lively gathering spot, buzzing with families, artists, and neighbors.


Maya clutched her sketchbook like a security blanket as she and Brielle wove through the crowd. Their mural had been chosen as one of the featured pieces. It was lit from below by two soft spotlights and surrounded by folding chairs and clapping admirers.


“I can’t believe it,” Brielle whispered.


Maya’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “We did that.”


They stood off to the side, watching people take photos and point to the stars they’d painted.


Then Maya saw him—Lucas—holding his guitar case and wearing a shy smile as he made his way over.


“Hey,” he said. “Heard two incredible artists were being celebrated tonight. Figured I should come cheer them on.”


Brielle raised a brow. “You play?”


Lucas nodded, then looked at Maya. “I signed up for the open mic. One song. Want to hear it?”


Maya felt her stomach do a flip. She looked at Brielle, who gave her a playful nudge.


“Go,” she said. “I’ll save our seats.”


Maya followed Lucas to the edge of the small stage, where he tuned his guitar and sat on a stool. When he began to play, the crowd quieted.


The song was simple but full of feeling—about finding unexpected connections, about growing up and finding your place in the world. When his eyes met Maya’s mid-song, it felt like time froze.


When he finished, the crowd erupted in applause, but Maya barely heard it. All she could think about was how far she’d come since that first day in town. How much had changed—and how much hadn’t.


Later, under a sky full of real stars, she and Brielle lay in the grass behind the rec center, the mural glowing behind them.


“We did everything on the Summer List,” Maya whispered.


“Not everything,” Brielle said, holding up a pen. “One thing left.”


She scrawled across the bottom:


#25: Be brave enough to grow.


Maya stared at it for a second, then smiled. “Perfect.”


They lay there for a long time, not needing to say anything else. Because some nights weren’t about doing more.


They were about holding on to what you had—and knowing it was enough.