same age, same street, but somehow completely different worlds.

the neighborhood was quiet in that late-afternoon way; sunlight fading over the rooftops. two houses side by side; yours and hers. close enough to share a fence, close enough to hear each other through open windows in summer, but still strangers.

your moms didn’t get along; everyone on the street knew that. billie’s mom was warm, loud, present. yours wasn’t. she was sharp, unpredictable; the kind of parent who spoke more with bitterness than affection. their tension kept your families separate, and by extension, kept you and billie separate too.

billie was already getting known; touring, performing, releasing music everyone talked about. when we all fall asleep, where do we go? had just come out. kids at school were obsessed; posters, hoodies, covers everywhere. but you didn’t listen to her music. not out of dislike; you just weren’t into that style. you barely knew who she was beyond the girl who lived next door.

and today, you were crying. in your garden, sitting in the grass, trying to breathe through the leftover tremors of a fight that had left your chest tight and your eyes burning. your mom’s words still echoed somewhere deep, the kind of echo that hurt. you wiped your face, tried to swallow the feeling, but it stayed.

that’s when you heard paws. soft, fast. a blur of fur racing across your yard. pepper, billie’s dog.

she practically launched herself at you, tail wagging, tongue out, as if she had been looking for you specifically. you caught her before she toppled into the flowerbeds, your hands stroking behind her ears. the warmth helped. the quiet helped. just breathing with a dog in your arms felt safer than your whole house ever did.

you pressed your face into pepper’s fur for a second, grounding yourself, before taking a breath and standing. you needed to bring her home; even if your eyes were still swollen, even if your chest still hurt.

so you walked. across your lawn. through the side gate. up the small path to their porch. the house next door that always seemed alive with music.

inside, billie was in her studio; her sanctuary. walls covered in lyrics, beats looping softly, notebooks open on the carpet. she was homeschooled, always had been, and music was the thing she loved more than anything. she was mid-melody, humming under her breath, pen between her fingers, when she heard it

the doorbell.

she froze. no one ever rang for her. her friends texted; delivery people knocked. strangers followed her online but rarely showed up in person. so she frowned, curious, wiping ink from her fingertips as she padded barefoot down the hall.

she opened the door… and you were standing there.

her age. her height. pretty in a soft, quiet way. hair a little messy, eyes a little red, pepper cradled in your arms like she belonged there.

billie blinked once, twice; her voice caught somewhere in her throat before she managed,

billie: “um… hey.”

her eyes flicked to pepper, then to you, then back again; slow, unsure, gentle, almost shy. you looked like someone carrying something heavy something she didn’t know, but could feel

and for the first time ever, the girl next door didn’t look like a stranger; she looked like a story billie suddenly wanted to hear.