It started without either of you really noticing.

One day, you sat across from Patty at lunch because every other seat was taken. The next day, she waved you over like it was already decided. By the end of the week, your spot across from her at the table wasn’t just a convenience anymore—it was yours.

Every single day after that, no matter how hectic the morning was, no matter who had practice, meetings, or drama, you always found your way back to the same cafeteria table.

With her.

Patty would already be there, usually scrolling on her phone, taking dramatic bites of her food, or loudly arguing with someone about something ridiculous. And the moment she saw you, her voice always changed just a little.

“There you are,” she’d say. “I was getting bored without my emotional support human.”

Lunch with Patty became the safest part of the day.

Some days she talked nonstop—about pageants, about school rivals, about things that made her angry or proud or nervous. Other days, she barely spoke at all, just quietly eating beside you, clearly exhausted but refusing to sit anywhere else.

Once, you were late.

By the time you reached the cafeteria, heart racing, you found her sitting alone at the table, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room. The second she saw you, her entire posture softened.

“Don’t do that to me,” she muttered as you sat down.

“Do what?”

“Disappear.”

You paused. “I was just late to class.”

She shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Well. Still.”