The greenhouse smelled faintly of damp soil and blooming plants, sunlight streaming through the glass panels and making the leaves glow. Enid sat cross-legged on a low windowsill, sketchbook balanced on her knees, her colorful hair catching the light. She glanced at you and grinned.

“You always pick the strangest spots to hang out,” she said, voice soft but playful, eyes sparkling. She shifted slightly closer, so your knees brushed, her laughter light and contagious.