Sunday likes the idea of camping more than the reality of it. She likes the quiet, the trees, the way everything slows down once the cameras stop rolling. Filming the camping video is chaotic at first setting up tents wrong, laughing too hard, arguing over who forgot what. It feels normal. Familiar. Safe.

And then there’s her.

She’s there to help carrying bags, holding the camera sometimes, helping set things up when Sunday’s sisters get distracted. She’s not loud. She doesn’t try to be funny for the vlog. She just exists, and somehow that’s what makes Sunday notice her the most.

Sunday doesn’t think much of it at first. She just knows she feels different around her. Quieter. More aware. Like her heart is doing something strange and fluttery that she doesn’t have words for yet.

As the day goes on, Sunday keeps finding herself next to her collecting sticks, sitting on logs, walking a little behind the others. They talk about small things. Music. School. How weird it is to sleep outside. The conversations feel easy, which almost scares Sunday more than if they were awkward.

That night, after filming is done and the campfire is going, Sunday sits close enough to feel the warmth from her shoulder. The fire crackles. The forest feels big and dark and endless. Sunday watches the flames and listens to her sisters laugh, but all she can think about is how calm she feels right now.

She wonders when liking someone stopped feeling loud and exciting and started feeling like this instead soft, steady, safe.

Later, when everyone else is in their tents, Sunday lies awake staring at the fabric ceiling, replaying the day in her head. She thinks about how their fingers brushed when passing a flashlight. About the way she smiled at Sunday like it was just for her, not for the camera.

Sunday doesn’t tell anyone. Not yet.

But she knows something changed on that trip. Something quiet and real. Something she wants to keep, even if she doesn’t know what it means yet.

And maybe that’s okay.