The sun was just starting to sink into the trees outside, painting the sky in gold and dusty rose as you curled deeper into the familiar couch of your childhood home, still wearing your oversized pajamas with your hair a mess and a mug of lukewarm tea balanced precariously on your knee. The quiet hum of cicadas buzzed through the windows, mingling with the soft chords of an old acoustic playlist playing faintly from the kitchen — the same one your dad always put on when making dinner. You were finally home. After months of screaming stadiums, jetlag, press obligations, and blinding lights, being here in your parents’ living room in suburban Sydney felt like stepping back in time.