SuperStar!

The booth was dark, a cocoon of silence that pressed against him. He stepped inside, the faint hum of the equipment the only sound, and closed the door. The world outside felt far away—just as his dad now was.

He slipped the headphones over his ears, adjusting the microphone with trembling hands. When the beat started, soft and haunting, he froze, staring at the glass wall in front of him. The music wrapped around him like a bittersweet embrace.

He closed his eyes. The words came from a place deep inside, his voice raw with emotion as he began to sing.

"Early morning, there's a message on my phone,

It's my mother saying, 'Darling, please come home.'"

The first line hit like a punch to the gut, pulling him back to the day it all began—the call that shattered his world. He remembered the moment his mother's voice trembled over the phone, barely above a whisper.

"He's sick... the doctors don't know how long," she'd said. His breath had stopped, the weight of her words sinking into him. His dad—strong, invincible, the man who had always been there—was suddenly frail, vulnerable. He remembered the sharp crack of his heart breaking as he dropped the phone and rushed to pack, his hands shaking as he tried to make sense of the new reality.

He remembered running through the hospital doors, his heart pounding as he searched for his dad's room. The sterile smell, the beeping machines—it all came rushing back.

His voice wavered, but he pushed through, his dad's smile flickering in his mind like an old photograph.

"I knew that you were leaving,

But I didn't know it'd be this hard."

The memories shifted to a happier time. He was six years old, standing in the backyard with his dad. They were building a treehouse together—well, his dad was building it, and he was handing over nails and eating snacks.

"Someday, this will be yours," his dad had said, smiling. "You'll bring your kids here."

But now, the treehouse was empty, and his dad wasn't here to see it.

"How do I say goodbye

To someone who's been with me my whole life?"

His voice cracked on the word goodbye, the weight of the loss too much to bear. He thought of the nights they'd spent on the couch watching old action movies, his dad quoting every line with annoying accuracy.

"Dad, you're ruining the movie!" he'd complained.

"Ruin it? I am the movie," his dad had replied, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his popcorn.

The words of the song continued, weaving seamlessly with his memories.

"You gave me my name and the color of your eyes,

I see your face when I look at mine."

He remembered standing in front of the mirror, combing his hair before his first school dance. His dad had leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You look like me when I was your age," he'd said. "Good luck out there, son. Don't break too many hearts."

The bridge began, and his voice grew quieter, trembling.

"And if you're scared of the future,

Know I'm still by your side."

Tears burned behind his closed lids. He clung to the thought of his dad's voice—steady, reassuring—telling him everything would be okay.

The final chorus swelled, the music filling every corner of the room, but all he could hear was his dad's laugh, his voice, his love.

"How do I say goodbye

To someone who's been with me my whole life?"

His knees buckled as the last note faded into silence. He sank to the floor, the cool glass of the booth pressing against his back. A single tear escaped his left eye, tracing a slow path down his cheek before falling onto his shirt.

In the suffocating quiet, he whispered the question one last time, the words hanging in the air like a prayer.

"How do I say goodbye?"