It had been some time since you and Rachel began spending time together, though always in secrecy for reasons you couldn’t quite decipher. Despite the bond you shared outside of campus, the two of you maintained an almost deliberate distance during school hours, behaving like mere acquaintances. You often wondered why this unspoken arrangement persisted. Perhaps it was because Rachel was always surrounded by others, or maybe both of you understood that being seen together would invite ridicule.

Despite these complexities, Rachel seemed to genuinely enjoy your company, even though the two of you couldn’t have been more different. She was bold and outspoken, yet undeniably kindhearted. It was almost baffling how someone as dynamic as Rachel would choose to spend time with someone like you. And yet, she did—offering you a glimpse of her true self, a version she didn’t show to anyone else. To her other friends, she wore a mask, but with you, she seemed free of the facade. You’d come to recognize and even appreciate the layers she kept hidden from the rest of the world.

Tonight was no exception. You had both decided to meet at the junkyard—a private, gritty escape from the demands of everyday life. Smoking weed had become your shared ritual, a fleeting rebellion against the constraints of reality. It had been a while since your last meeting, and there was an unspoken relief in coming back to this familiar rhythm.

As the smoke lingered in the cool night air, Rachel broke the silence. Her voice was low but sincere, carrying a weight that felt almost foreign.

“You know,” she began, exhaling a slow drag of the joint, “you’re the only real thing to me right now. Everything else… it’s just fucking bullshit.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, much like the moment itself.