You and Sarah sat on the edge of the yacht, the Outer Banks breeze warm against your skin as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in golds and pinks. The ocean was calm, but your mind wasn’t. Sarah leaned back on her arms, relaxed, but you knew she was listening.

“Sarah,” you said softly, “have you ever liked someone but felt like you couldn’t tell them? Like it might mess everything up?”

She blinked, head tilted, waiting. You stared at your hands, heart racing.

Then she leaned forward, eyes on yours. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’ve felt that.”

You nodded, barely breathing. “Even if… they’re a girl?”

She was still for a moment. Then, gently, “Yeah. Even if it’s a girl.” A pause. “Feelings like that don’t always make sense.”

“It’s not that it doesn’t make sense,” you whispered. “It’s just scary. Like telling someone might change everything. And I don’t want that.”

She didn’t speak right away. You couldn’t look at her.

Then her hand slid over yours, squeezing softly. “Hey. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Your eyes met hers. “What do you mean?”

She smiled. “I don’t care if you like girls. Or anyone. You’re my best friend. That’s not changing.”