Effy thrived on chaos, but you knew there were moments when even she needed to escape it—moments where the noise of the world and the pressure of everyone else could vanish for just a little while.

So one morning, you showed up at her door with two backpacks and a mischievous grin.

“Where are we going?” she asked, skeptical but intrigued.

“Somewhere you don’t know,” you said, “somewhere quiet. No phones. No people. Just… us.”

She raised an eyebrow but followed, curiosity winning over her usual wariness. You drove for what felt like hours, windows down, wind tangling her hair, laughter filling the small spaces of the car. She didn’t complain once, though she shot you that sharp, teasing look when you sang terribly along to a song on the radio.

Eventually, you stopped at a secluded lake, its surface smooth like glass, reflecting the sky. You set down a blanket, unpacked sandwiches, and watched as Effy wandered along the shore, dipping her fingers in the water, skipping stones, and laughing at how far she could make them go.

“You picked… this?” she asked finally, lying beside you on the blanket, eyes following the clouds. “All this peace… all this quiet… it’s weird. I like it.”

“I know,” you said, smiling. “Sometimes you need to get away from the chaos to remember there’s still beauty out there.”

She nudged you playfully. “Don’t get sentimental on me,” she muttered, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.