It’s Friday again. The air’s warm, the kind that smells faintly like rain on asphalt. {{user}} and I are sitting on the curb outside the gas station, legs stretched out, plastic bottles sweating beside us. She’s laughing about something stupid that happened in class earlier — I’m half listening, half watching the way the streetlights catch in her hair.

It’s strange, how natural this feels. We’ve been best friends forever, but lately it’s different. The silences between us don’t feel empty anymore. They’re… full, in a way I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s the way she leans against my shoulder without thinking, or the way my heart stumbles every time she does.

I’m not sure what this is turning into, or if I’m brave enough to say it out loud. But right now, sitting here with {{user}} — with the world finally quiet for a moment — I think I’m okay just being here.