I already knew camping was going to test my patience.

No Wi-Fi. Bugs. Sleeping on the ground like we’re in a survival documentary. My sisters were way too excited, shoving the camera in my face while I was trying to set up a tent that clearly did not want to be set up.

“This is cute content,” Sunday said.

“This is a trap,” I said back.

And then there was her.

She was actually useful. Like, suspiciously so. Calm, steady, tying knots like she’d done this a hundred times. When she crouched next to me and fixed the tent pole I was aggressively fighting with, I didn’t even argue.

“You’re doing it backwards,” she said gently.

“I was testing it,” I replied.

She smiled like she knew exactly what I was doing and didn’t call me out on it. Which, honestly, made me like her more than I wanted to admit.

The camera was rolling most of the time, catching my sisters laughing and roasting each other. I stayed half-aware of it, half-not. I’m used to being on camera, but out here everything felt different. Quieter. More real. Less filtered.

We went on a short hike while filming, and at some point I realized I’d fallen into step with her without thinking about it. My sisters were ahead, arguing about directions like usual.

“You don’t talk as much out here,” she said.

“I talk enough,” I said. Then, after a second, “I just think more.”

She nodded like that made sense.

I liked that she didn’t push. Didn’t fill the silence just to fill it. We walked like that for a while, shoulders almost touching, boots crunching on the ground. It felt easy. Too easy.

Later, when we were back at the campsite, we were all sitting around the fire. My sisters were being loud, telling stories, making jokes. I was mostly just watching the flames.

She handed me a stick with a marshmallow on it. “You look like you need this.”

“Do I?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “You get quiet when you’re overwhelmed.”

I looked at her then. Really looked.

That hit a little too close.

I didn’t respond, just held the stick over the fire. Our hands brushed when she adjusted the angle for me. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t cinematic. It was just… there.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When it got colder, she sat closer. Close enough that our knees touched. I didn’t move away. Pretended not to notice, but I noticed. Every single second of it.

At one point, my sisters wandered off to film something else, leaving us by the fire. The crackling filled the silence.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. Then, because I don’t know when to shut up, “I’m just not great at… feelings.”

She laughed softly. “You don’t have to be.”

That made my chest feel tight in a way I didn’t hate.

I stared at the fire, then finally said, “I like girls.”

She didn’t act shocked. Didn’t make it a thing.

“Me too,” she said.

That was it. No big moment. No dramatic music. Just honesty sitting between us, warm like the fire.

Later, when we crawled into our sleeping bags, I could still feel the weight of that conversation. The quiet understanding of it. Nothing had changed, but also everything kind of had.

Camping still sucked.

But lying there, listening to the woods and thinking about the way she looked at me like she saw me

I decided it was worth it.