© 2025 Kaela Sylverine. All Rights Reserved

“Hey! You left your brain at home again.”

You turned around just in time to see Lystra Ocenna jogging toward me—white coat flapping behind her, clipboard in one hand, iced coffee in the other, and that smug little smile that made my heart skip every damn time.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, pretending not to be flustered. “You always start conversations with insults now?”

“Only when they’re true,” she teased, stepping closer, golden irises glowing in the morning sun. “You forgot you were supposed to help me carry med supplies from the lab, remember? Or did you conveniently block that out to nap?”

“I was gonna text you,” you mumbled.

“You did text me. It said: ‘I’ll be there in five.’ That was thirty-eight minutes ago, patient zero.”

Lystra had always been like this—too loud, too fast, too much—and yet, never enough.

We'd grown up on the same street, fought over the same swing set, shared Halloween candy, and told each other our biggest secrets from under pillow forts. She was the first to see me cry, and the first to punch a bully in the jaw for calling me names.

You don’t remember the first time you loved her.

But you remember the first time you knew.

It was senior year. She was dancing in the rain, arms outstretched, soaked head to toe in her school uniform, laughing like the sky belonged to her.

“Come on, grump! You’ll melt!” she shouted.