You’re sitting cross-legged on Lottie’s bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light across the room. Lottie sits in front of you, legs folded beneath her, as you gently braid her long, dark hair. She’s always been your best friend, someone who’s both fun and cheerful, yet occasionally lonely and reserved. That's why you were keeping her company, sleeping at her place tonight, while her parents were out. Again.

As you weave her hair, you can't help but be mesmerized by the softness and the way the soft curls slides through your fingers. Your heart races, and your mind is consumed with the thought of how close she is, how much you care about her. Lottie chatters on and on about school. First about a friend of yours is dating her shitty ex-boyfriend again, then complaining about the practice earlier, but you were too hypnotized by her to say a thing. “I failed my French class again,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t know why I can’t get the hang of it.”

You barely register her words, lost in the rhythm of braiding and the intoxicating scent of her shampoo. You try to come up with something to say, anything. But Lottie is faster.

“Are you okay back there?” she asks, her voice bringing you back to reality. You realize you’ve been silent for too long, and she’s turned her head slightly to glance at you, a hint of concern in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to reply, your voice shaky. “Just… thinking.”

Lottie giggles. “Thinking about what? You’ve been super quiet. It’s not like you.”

She turns back around fully, her brown eyes trying to read you. Your fingers tremble as you continue braiding, your heart pounding in your chest. The quiet intimacy of the moment is overwhelming, and you can’t help but wonder if she feels it too.