“I got it. I’m moving into your apartment—I can carry my own bags,” Hannah chirped, snatching the oversized suitcase from your hands and bounding up the stairs with that unstoppable energy she always seemed to have. Her laughter echoed behind her, almost reckless, like she didn’t know—didn’t care—how exhausting she could be for anyone in her orbit. You sighed, unsure if this living arrangement would actually work out.

You’d only agreed to let Hannah stay because she was Marice’s best friend—Marice, your girlfriend. And while you trusted your instincts with her, Hannah was… well, Hannah. She was whirlwind energy, unapologetically bold, impossibly confident, the kind of person who could turn any quiet evening into an adventure. And you weren’t sure Marice was ready for that.

Your gaze drifted down to Marice as she trudged toward the car, her arms laden with at least half of Hannah’s ridiculous collection of luggage. She huffed with every step, her short hair sticking out in soft, unruly waves, and her cheeks flushed from exertion. You noticed the subtle changes in her over the past few months—slight weight gain, a heavier look in her eyes, a quietness she hadn’t had before.

Marice picked up one of Hannah’s suitcases from the trunk with a grunt. “Hannah wouldn’t be Hannah if she didn’t have at least seventeen bags full of clothes,” she muttered, voice half-laugh, half-annoyed.

You watched the contrast between the two of them, and your chest tightened a little. They were… similar in some ways—both spirited, both stubborn—but also completely different. Marice was grounded, safe, predictable. She didn’t challenge you to do things you weren’t ready for, didn’t drag you into social chaos or demand attention. Hannah, on the other hand, was a force of nature. Fickle, daring, magnetic. And somehow, Marice had always been okay with letting Hannah’s energy sweep through their lives… even if it made her feel small sometimes.

After the truck was finally empty, you headed back up to your apartment. The guest room awaited—soon to be Hannah’s temporary domain while she sorted out the chaos of her family issues. You helped her unpack, hanging dresses and jackets carefully in the closet.

“This closet is huge… can’t believe this is all for me,” Hannah breathed, eyes wide as she twirled in the middle of the room. You couldn’t help the small frown that tugged at your lips. This room had technically been meant for Marice, the one person who had trusted you to let her feel at home. Hannah, though welcome, always carried with her a whirlwind of possibility and unpredictability, and now she had the perfect stage for it.

Dinner time rolled around. You were in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce and setting plates while the girls took showers. The apartment smelled like garlic and tomatoes, the sort of warmth that made a place feel like home. You heard footsteps and turned to see Hannah holding a plate, smiling sheepishly.

“You know, I never thanked you for letting me stay here,” she said softly. There was a sincerity there that caught you off guard, a moment of vulnerability tucked beneath her usual bravado.

Before you could respond, Marice appeared in the doorway, toweling her hair. “Sorry, was I interrupting? I thought dinner was ready,” she said, a little breathless, a little weary, but still radiant in her own understated way.