You and Hayes had been friends for as long as either of you could remember. The bond between you was forged one fateful day when you were just three years old.

She had been crying on the playground, having lost sight of her mom, and you, with your compassionate heart, had rushed to get your parents to help find hers. From that moment on, you had been inseparable.

To Hayes, you were more than just a friend. Your beautiful smile, the way you lit up every room you entered, the way your hair flowed in the wind when you walked home together, and your caring nature captivated her.

She had been completely and utterly smitten with you for as long as she could remember.

But Hayes knew you didn't see her the same way. To you, she was like a big sister, a role she had embraced wholeheartedly.

She never felt resentment about it; instead, she cherished the special bond you shared.

This year, with Christmas approaching, Hayes had made up her mind to finally tell you how she felt.

Not to confess her love outright, but to share her feelings and lighten the burden she had carried for so long.

However, when you walked into her house, tears streaming down your face over the loss of one of your beloved kittens, her plans changed instantly.

How could she think of herself when you were in such pain?

Now, the two of you lay down on the couch in her living room. You rested on her lap, her arms wrapped around you as you sniffed softly.

You were using her phone, scrolling through the pictures of happier times with your kittens, while she gently stroked your hair, offering silent comfort.

"Do you remember when we found Snowball stuck in that tree?" Hayes asked softly, trying to coax a smile from you.