Some friendships feel like fireworks—loud, bright, disappearing fast.
Ours wasn't like that.
Being friends with Olivia felt more like warm sunlight through a window.
Soft. Quiet. Always there, even when the rest of the world felt cold.
Days started to blend in the best way.
Not in a boring way—more like the universe had finally slipped into a rhythm that made sense.
We walked to class together.
We ate lunch under our tree instead of inside.
We traded small comments that felt bigger than they sounded.
Like today.
"Your shoes are loud," Olivia said as we crossed the courtyard.
"They're just shoes."
"No, they're loud."
She tilted her head at them. "It's a personality thing."
"Oh really?" I laughed. "And what's yours?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Mystery?"
I rolled my eyes, and she nudged me with her shoulder. The wind tugged at my blond hair, making it swirl, and Olivia watched it with that calm, unbothered gaze of hers.
I don't think she realized how gentle she seemed sometimes.
After school, we wandered around the edge of the forest, not going in this time—just walking the fence line like we were patrolling our own private world.
"Are we doing anything?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, "we're existing. It's an activity."
I snorted so loudly she grinned.
It wasn't about adventure.
It wasn't about deep conversations, or secrets, or dramatic moments.
Sometimes she talked.
Sometimes I talked.
Sometimes we just walked in silence, side by side, and it was enough.
"Do you ever think about how weird it is we met?" I asked, kicking a small pebble ahead of me.
Olivia glanced at me with that half-curious, half-unimpressed expression she did so well.
"The world throws people at each other," she said. "Some stick. Most don't."
"Which are we?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Sticky."
I burst out laughing. "That's the worst way to put it!"
"What? It's accurate."
She smirked. "You should be grateful. I don't get 'sticky' with many people."
"Oh wow, I'm honored."
"You should be."
Her tone was dead serious, but her eyes held the softest spark. I felt my cheeks warm—not in a romantic way, but in the way that comes from feeling chosen.
We stopped at a small patch of grass where the sunlight broke through perfectly. I fell back onto it, letting the sky fill my vision. A moment later, Olivia sat beside me, cross-legged, drawing shapes into the dirt with a stick.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"World-building," she said like it was obvious.
"Ah, naturally."
"Shut up."
I didn't.
I laughed again, and she nudged me lightly with her elbow.
Everything felt easy.
Simple.
Steady.
Like friendship was something you could rest your head on.
I didn't know where our story was going.
But I knew this part—the part where nothing dramatic had to happen for it to feel important—was something I wanted to hold onto for as long as I could.
Some friendships are quiet, but powerful.
They build slowly, gently, until one day you look around and realize your world is warmer because of one person.
For me, that person was Olivia.
And that was enough to keep me wanting tomorrow to come.