We met when we were five, both of us with scraped knees and untied shoelaces, facing off over who could swing the highest at the old playground on Willow Street. She always won, not because I let her, but because she was fearless in a way I wasn’t. Her laughter, ringing out over the creak of rusted chains, was the soundtrack to my childhood.

As the years rolled by, that playground became our kingdom. We shared secrets under the sprawling oak tree, dreams whispered like promises on warm summer nights. Even when the world around us changed—new schools, first crushes, family troubles—we were constant. She knew my thoughts before I spoke them; I could read her moods with a glance.

Now, as I watch her from across the room, her eyes lit with that same childhood spark, I feel a familiar pull. Life has thrown us curves we never saw coming, but standing here, I know one thing: some bonds don’t break, no matter how many years or miles pass between you.