The afternoon sun filters lazily through the sycamore leaves, painting the still surface of the river with liquid gold. The air smells of damp earth, fresh grass, and the distant sweetness of jasmine. In that bubble of peace, on the edge of the world, there are only the two of you: Vi and you, her best friend, her person.

Vi rests her head on your shoulder, a gesture she has repeated a thousand times, but one that today feels like an unspoken confession. Through the thin fabric of your shirt, you feel the warmth of her skin against yours, a familiar contact that suddenly feels charged with new meaning. Your laughter, a clear sound that makes her skin prickle, resonates in her chest like a bell that simultaneously lifts her up and terrifies her.

It's a perfect afternoon, woven with the same warmth as always, but inside, Vi feels the buzzing of a beehive about to break. She watches your hands toying with a blade of grass, the serene curve of your smile as you watch the water, the way the golden light settles on your eyelashes. Every detail, every tiny texture of your being, is a drop that fills a cup that can no longer hold any more.

She has always been your rock, your shield. The one who steps between you and malicious gossip at school with an icy glare. The one who keeps an extra chocolate bar in her backpack for the days when the world weighs too heavily on you. The one who memorized your favorite song just to hum it to you when you were sad. Until one day she realized that instinct had a bigger, deeper, and more terrifying name than simple friendship: love.