I was ten when Theo climbed up the treehouse ladder that final summer, holding two juice boxes and wearing his dad’s way-too-big aviator sunglasses.

“You better not cry when I leave,” he said with a crooked grin, plopping down beside me.

“I won’t,” I lied.

He looked at me with those soft blue eyes that never stayed still for too long. “I’ll text you. From everywhere. Every country. Every boring hotel room.”

“You better.”

He leaned in close, almost like he was about to whisper a secret… but instead handed me a folded napkin with a doodle of us on it—stick figures, a treehouse, and the words: Best friends. Always.

That was the last day we sat in the treehouse together.

⸻

[Scene 2 – 5 Years Later, Present Day, 15 years old]

My phone buzzed just as I was halfway through algebra homework.

Theo: 🗼 guess who got lost in Tokyo and accidentally ended up at a sumo tournament Theo: these guys are legends Theo: also I tried sushi and cried a little, no one warned me about wasabi Theo: [photo attached]

I smiled before I could stop myself. It was blurry, as usual—his smile always a little crooked, black hoodie a size too big, neon lights behind him, and some massive sumo wrestler casually photobombing.

I stared at the picture longer than I should have.

If only he knew… I’ve been in love with him for all five of those years.