The cassette sits in a drawer with loose batteries and old receipts. “XMAS ’94” is written in blue ballpoint, the label peeling at one corner. You haven’t played it in years, but you remember the hiss before the first chord, the way the tape would eat the first two seconds of “Fairytale of New York” if you didn’t press stop and rewind just right.

Spotify builds you a Holiday Mix every December. Seamless transitions, perfect sound quality, no dead air. It doesn’t know you and your sister used to sit cross-legged on the living room rug, rating “O Holy Night” performances on a scale of angelic to soap opera.

The stereo receiver gets warm on top after an hour. You press play. Between songs, there’s silence—real silence, not buffering, not loading. Just the house settling, the fridge humming in the kitchen.

Ask one other person for one song they need to hear. Add it, no matter what it is.

The first notes fill the room. Nat King Cole’s voice, slightly muffled by time, rises into the quiet.