I peered through the sheer curtain, hoping to catch a glimpse of Uncle Jim and Ringo outside. They were engrossed in conversation, and Ringo's oceanic blue eyes sparkled as he listened intently. His nodding, so uniquely him, made me smile. What could Uncle Jim be talking about? He had a way of turning any topic into something fascinating, just as John had pointed out earlier.

"What's happening over there?" John's voice pulled me back to reality. "Are they coming back soon?"

I turned to him. "No, they're still deep in conversation."

John was struggling to light the single candle he'd placed on Ringo's cake. His first match flickered and died.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered, frustrated.

I smiled quietly. John was never one for practical things. Even simple tasks, like lighting a candle, could seem monumental to him. George, standing just behind him, shook his head sympathetically.

"What?" John shot George a defensive look. "Don't give me that look, Harrison!"

I felt a wave of unease. Tension between John and George could escalate quickly, and I braced myself to step in if necessary.

But Paul, standing nearby, noticed my anxiety. He whispered with a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, Linda."

Paul was right. George, ever calm, responded in his gentle way. "Relax, Johnny. Let me help." He lit another match and handed it over with a soft smile.

"Try again," George encouraged.

John grumbled, "Don't treat me like a child, Geo. You're the kid here."

John's words cut deep. George hated being called a "kid," especially by John. It was a sore point, a reminder of how he was often treated like the youngest and least experienced.

George's eyes darkened with hurt. "When will you stop misreading me, John?" he said softly, then quickly added, "Just light the candle, mate."

John's expression softened. He realized he'd crossed a line. "Look, Geo, I—"

But George didn't let him finish. "Before the match goes out," he urged, motioning to the candle.

John lit the candle without further protest, managing a small flame at last. George smiled, breaking the tension. "See? Not so hard, was it?"

"Yeah... Thanks," John said with an apologetic grin. "I'm sorry, George."

George responded with a soft tap on John's shoulder, his smile forgiving. He then wandered over to the window, watching Ringo and Uncle Jim as they chatted outside.

John sighed heavily. I moved closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look at me, his eyes reflected the same sadness I'd seen in George.

"I messed it up again with George, didn't I?" John confessed, regret weighing on his voice.

"It'll be fine, John," I assured him. "George knows you didn't mean to hurt him."

"But I did hurt him," John said, looking like a boy who'd just realized he broke his favorite toy.

"You did," I admitted softly, "but you can fix it. Just try to listen to him more. He's not a kid, John."

"I'm always messing up with the people I care about most," John murmured.

"You'll learn," I said, giving him a supportive smile. "You and George—you're mates. You'll work it out."

John smiled faintly, some of the tension leaving his face. His mischievous spark returned as he teased, "Well, at least I can light a candle now!"

I chuckled. "That's progress, Johnny boy."

I picked up Ringo's cake, ready to take it into the living room. As I did, I whispered to John, "Go talk to him."

John nodded, his soft smile reassuring me he would.

Just as I set the cake on the table, I heard Paul, George, and John shout in unison, "Birthday boy's coming!"

Their excitement was contagious as they hurried into the room, lining up behind the table like eager children. John and George stood side by side, and I noticed the camaraderie between them had returned.

"You did a good job with the candle, John," George said warmly.

"I had a little help from my mate," John replied, giving George a playful wink. "Even if he is just a kid."

George pretended to scowl but then broke into a laugh. "You're a swine, Lennon."

John turned toward me. "Hey Lucy, aren't you coming?"

I smiled softly. "Ringo deserves a proper birthday song, don't you think?"

I sat down at the upright piano, its frame set against the blue chinoiserie wallpaper, and began to play "Happy Birthday." Just as the front door swung open, Ringo's voice carried into the room.

"... I shouldn't impose my interest in country music on the others, Uncle Jim."

"You're not imposing anything, son. Just give it a chance," Uncle Jim responded kindly.

Ringo trailed off as he stepped into the living room, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the cake and the smiles on our faces.

"What... What is this?" Ringo stammered, his astonishment clear.

"Happy Birthday, Ringo!" we all shouted, our voices filling the room.

Ringo stood there, speechless, as I resumed playing "Happy Birthday," our voices joining in harmony to celebrate him.

When we finished, Paul stepped forward, grinning. "What are you waiting for, Rings? Cut the cake!"

"Is this really for me?" Ringo asked, still in disbelief.

John pretended to think it over. "Nah, the neighbor's birthday is today too. We just thought we'd make a cake for him."

Ringo blinked, clearly overwhelmed. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble..."

"It's no trouble, Ritchie," I said softly. "You deserve it."

Ringo smiled, his eyes misting slightly. He turned to Uncle Jim. "You knew all along, didn't you? Was that conversation outside part of the plan?"

Uncle Jim chuckled. "Well, partly. But I really did want to talk to you one-on-one. It's been a long time coming."

"Thanks, Uncle," Ringo said, his voice filled with emotion. "I promise I'll try to be more creative... if I have any creativity at all."

"Of course you do," Uncle Jim reassured him. "Trust yourself. Your songs deserve a chance."

John, who had been listening intently, suddenly spoke up. "Wait a minute... You wrote a song, Rings?"

Ringo hesitated. "Well... yeah, I gave it a try."

John, Paul, and George exchanged surprised glances.

"That's great," John said earnestly. "I'd like to hear it."

Ringo looked stunned. "Are you serious? You'd actually listen to it?"

"Of course," John said, his tone serious. "We'll give it a try, right, lads?"

Paul and George nodded in agreement. "It's up to you, Ringo," Paul added kindly. "We'd love to hear it, but only if you're comfortable sharing."

Ringo's eyes filled with emotion. He looked around at us, clearly touched. Finally, he whispered, "What would I do without you guys?"

He quickly changed the subject, gesturing toward the cake. "Now, who's going to help me eat this?"

We all laughed, and the tension melted away as Ringo cut the first slice.

★★★★

I found George enjoying a quiet moment with his cake when I aimed the camera at him. The click startled him so much that he almost dropped his plate.

"Devi, what the—! You know I hate being photographed," he groaned, shooting me a mildly annoyed look.

I couldn't help but laugh. "You better get used to it, Georgie. The world will be watching your every move soon enough, Mr. Famous Beatle!"

"If being famous means having a camera shoved in my face all the time, I'm not so sure I want it," George replied, half-serious, as he took another bite of his cake.

His comment sobered me a little. I could sense the weight behind his words.

"I know, George..." I said softly, sitting beside him. "But the world needs to hear your music. It'd be a shame to keep that hidden."

George's expression softened, and a gentle smile touched his lips. "Thanks, Devi... for always believing in us."

I returned his smile. "You make it easy to believe in all of you."

As I glanced around the room, a thought struck me. "Hey, have you seen John?"

George pointed toward the door. "I think he's outside, having a smoke."

"Thanks, Gregory!" I teased, ruffling his hair before darting toward the door, hearing his playful protests as I left.

★★★★  

There you are, Johnny boy, hiding out here in your solitude," I called out as I stepped into the cool night air.

John, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in hand, turned toward me, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"I'm a loner," he shrugged with a mischievous smile. "Sometimes, I like my own company."

"Mind if I join you in your lonesomeness?" I asked, stepping closer.

"With pleasure," he replied, gesturing for me to sit beside him. "We can be alone together."

He extended the cigarette toward me with a playful grin. "Fancy a drag?"

"John Winston Lennon..." I gave him a mock-reproachful look. "You know I don't smoke."

He chuckled, taking a long drag himself. "Just thought I'd offer. You could've been the first Ceylonese girl to break the rules."

"I have my limits," I smiled softly. "Besides, some rules are worth keeping."

For a moment, he gazed at me in thoughtful silence, exhaling smoke into the night air.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Lucy," he said quietly, his voice losing its teasing edge.

"You didn't," I replied, sensing a shift in his mood. "I just worry about you, John."

He took another drag, the faint glow of the cigarette tip lighting his face in the dim light. Then, out of nowhere, he said, "You and Aunt Mimi would get along."

That took me by surprise. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "You're both a bit... traditional, in a good way. Kind, generous, honest—you remind me of her."

I frowned slightly, knowing how Mimi disapproved of our friendship. "She doesn't seem to see it that way. She's protective of you, John. You can't blame her for that."

John's expression darkened. "Stop defending her, Lucy. She's wrong about you."

I blinked, startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice.

"John, don't be angry," I said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "She only wants what's best for you. She loves you."

"For God's sake, Lucy!" His voice rose again, his frustration palpable. "You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, and she doesn't even see it."

His words hit me like a wave. I wasn't sure how to respond or what he truly meant by that.

Sensing my discomfort, John quickly softened. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just—" He took a deep breath, lighting another cigarette. "What I meant to say is, your friendship is one of the best things in my life. You keep me grounded. Without you, I'd be lost."

I smiled, touched by his words. "You give me too much credit, John. But thank you."

We stood in silence for a while, the cool breeze brushing past us, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

Just then, I noticed a figure approaching in the distance. A slender, familiar silhouette, her long blonde hair swaying in the wind. Barbara Baker—John's ex-girlfriend—was walking toward us, her confident stride unmistakable.

"John..." I whispered, gently nudging him.

"Hm?" He turned to me, confused by the urgency in my voice.

"Barbara's here," I said quietly, feeling a sudden tension in the air.

John's gaze followed mine, his face tightening as he recognized her. "Damn..."

He flicked his half-finished cigarette away, clearly caught off guard.

As Barbara got closer, I felt a lump rise in my throat. This moment wasn't meant for me—it was theirs.

I began to step back, but before I could leave, John grabbed my hand.

"Stay with me, Lucy... please."