He stands under the warm glow of carnival lights, cotton candy in one hand, a corn dog in the other. His posture is relaxed but charged with anticipation — the kind that comes from choosing himself for the first time in years. The Ferris wheel towers above him, lit like a crown he’s finally ready to wear. A small band nearby pauses mid‑song, looking up at him with a kind of surprised admiration — not because he’s famous, but because joy looks good on him. He walks toward the Ferris wheel, toward the ride he’s wanted his whole life, toward the version of himself he almost forgot.