For a moment, the gap between fifty and fifteen vanished. The music wasn't "old"; it was a shared language. Jakub didn't put his earbud back in. He stayed, listening to the crackle of the tape, realizing that his father’s "oldies" were actually the soundtrack of a life lived at full volume.

Marek smiled, not stopping the tape. "It's a story, Kuba. We didn't have skips or shuffle. We had to listen to the whole thing—the heartbreak, the politics, the joy. This song is why your mother and I are together."

As the first chords of a synth-heavy Polish pop classic filled the room, Marek closed his eyes. Suddenly, he wasn't a man with a mortgage and graying temples. He was twenty again, standing in a crowded, smoky club in Warsaw. The air was thick with the scent of "Pani Walewska" perfume and cheap tobacco.