The camera was on, obviously. It always is. My sisters were already arguing over where the tree should go like it was a life-or-death decision. Someone knocked over a box of ornaments. Someone else blamed me. Normal chaos. Very on-brand.

And then there was her.

She was sitting on the floor by the boxes, untangling lights way more patiently than anyone else would. Not really part of the video, but still there. Still present. I kept catching myself glancing over when I thought no one was looking.

I hate how obvious my feelings feel to me, even if no one else notices.

I handed her a strand of lights at one point, and our fingers brushed. Just barely. The tiniest thing. But my brain immediately went blank like, oh. Okay. Cool. Guess I’ll never recover from that.

“Careful,” she said softly, smiling, “these ones are kind of broken.”

I laughed too fast. “Figures.”

My sisters were yelling about tinsel in the background, but everything felt quieter somehow. Like it was just us in this little bubble next to the tree. She kept looking at me when I talked, actually looking, and it made my chest feel tight in that good, terrifying way.

At one point, I climbed the ladder to put the star on top of the tree. I could feel her eyes on me, and it made me weirdly nervous. Like I wanted to do it perfectly just because she was watching.

“Don’t fall,” she said.

“I won’t,” I said, immediately almost falling.

She reached out without thinking, hands on my waist to steady me. It was quick. Respectful. Probably nothing.

But I felt it everywhere.

I got down and neither of us said anything about it. We just shared this small look that felt… loaded. Like we both knew something but didn’t know how to say it yet.

The rest of the video went on like usual — music playing, fake snow everywhere, my sisters being dramatic. But every time I laughed, I was aware of her smile. Every time our shoulders bumped, I felt electricity shoot straight through me.

I wondered if she knew. If she could tell I like girls. If she could tell I like her.

When filming wrapped, the house was glowing. The tree was lit. Everything felt warm and soft and very Christmas-movie coded. My sisters went to check footage, leaving us alone in the living room.

She looked at the tree, then at me. “It turned out really pretty.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It did.”

Another pause. One of those quiet ones that feel full instead of awkward.

I didn’t say anything. She didn’t either. But when she leaned her shoulder lightly against mine, I didn’t move away.

And that felt like something.

Not everything. But something real.