From the rooftop above the laundromat, Priya knew the night sky cold. So she spotted it at once: a tiny blue dot inside Cassiopeia's crooked W, sitting where nothing should be. She checked her star atlas twice, then three different apps. The dot was real to her eyes and to her phone, but it wasn't on any map. Her hands went cold. New stars don't just show up overnight.

Priya decided to stop guessing and just watch it all night. She set her phone to snap a photo every ten minutes. A satellite or plane would streak away fast. A real star would drift slowly with the rest of the sky. She wrapped up in a blanket and waited to see which one it was.

By 2 a.m. the photos told the story: the dot drifted with the real stars, exactly in step. So it wasn't a plane or a satellite. It was fixed up there, like something parked in the sky on purpose. Then Priya noticed the note taped under her own telescope, in handwriting she didn't recognize. "You finally looked. Bring this to your mom."

Priya showed her mom the note. Her mom's face went still. "That's your grandfather's handwriting," she whispered. He'd been an amateur astronomer, gone since before Priya could remember. They dug a dusty box from the attic and found his notebooks, full of plans for a "surprise star" he'd set on a long timer for any grandchild who looked up. Priya had.