I always start my mornings with yoga and a cup of green tea. That's my ritual. My quiet time. The thirty minutes I get to just be before the noise of the day starts creeping in. Normally, it's peaceful. The sun filters in through the living room windows, the floor is cool under my hands, and the scent of mint from my diffuser fills the apartment.
But today?
Today I was pulled from sleep by the unmistakable sound of Andrea belting her heart out to some early 2000s pop anthem. I couldn't tell if it was talent or madness, but she somehow managed to sound good. Like...record-deal good. Which was impressive considering I'm 90% sure she rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago and hadn't even had any water yet.
Her voice carried through the walls like a full-on concert. I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head, holding onto the last fragments of sleep, but it was no use. Once Andrea's in full performance mode, the apartment becomes her stage.
I finally dragged myself out of bed, still in my oversized sleep shirt and shorts, and shuffled into the hallway. Andrea was in the kitchen, spinning with a spoon in one hand and a butter knife in the other like they were microphones. Her curly hair was piled into the kind of messy bun only someone with confidence could pull off, and her pajamas looked like she'd fought a bear in them.
She turned dramatically and spotted me.
"Morning, Summer!" she said, striking a pose mid-verse.
"Hey," I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Woke up before me again, I see."
"Yeah," she said with a grin. "So… who's making breakfast?"
I raised an eyebrow, unamused. "Is that even a question? Duh, you are. I've been making breakfast for the past two weeks now. Don't play dumb."
"Do I have to?" she whined, pouting like a child.
"Yes," I said, already heading to the couch. "Unless you want me to burn cereal out of spite."
She groaned dramatically but opened the fridge anyway. I flopped onto the couch and grabbed the remote. There was something comforting about our morning routine, even if it was chaotic. I liked that our apartment always felt lived-in—like home. There was always something on the stove, a sock in a weird place, and music playing way too early. But it was us. It was real.
While Andrea cooked—if throwing frozen waffles into the toaster counted—I curled up with a blanket and scrolled through my phone. I saw a picture of the six of us from last week. Rudy had her usual soft smile, Astrid was half-hiding behind her camera, Stephanie was casually leaned back with her arm around Stella's shoulders, and Andrea and I were doing ridiculous peace signs like we were twelve.
It made me smile.
Living with Andrea was like living with a human firework. Bright, loud, unpredictable, and always a little messy. But she kept me grounded in the weirdest way. She reminded me that it was okay to not have it all figured out. That sometimes the best things happened when you let go of control.
And me? I'm the one who likes control. I like neat spaces, planned schedules, clear direction. I like yoga at 6:30 and green tea at 7. But since moving in with her, I've learned to let loose a little. To laugh more. To let things be messy.
Andrea slid a plate of waffles in front of me with a proud smile. "Bon appétit, roommate."
I raised an eyebrow. "You literally toasted frozen waffles and didn't even cut them evenly."
"Rude," she said, sitting beside me. "You're welcome."
"Thanks," I said, grinning as I took a bite. "Still better than burning the cereal."
We watched TV in silence for a bit, the kind that didn't feel awkward. We didn't need to fill every moment with words. That's the best kind of friendship—the kind where comfort exists in both chaos and quiet.
After breakfast, Andrea left to run an errand, and I stayed back to clean up. That's kind of how we worked. She made messes, and I put them back
together. But not in a bad way—it was balanced. We were a team. Messy harmony.
Once the kitchen was clean and the dishes were drying, I opened the balcony door and let the breeze roll in. I sat down with my now-cold green tea and just breathed. The city buzzed in the distance, but our little space was still, warm, and safe.
I didn't need the girls around every second to feel close to them. They were part of my life in a way that ran deeper than constant texts or hangouts. I knew Rudy was probably gardening somewhere quiet. Astrid might be editing photos, probably lost in her world of light and angles. Stephanie was probably working out or going over her meal plan for the week. And Stella—who knows? Probably trying on five different outfits for something casual. That girl couldn't breathe without a lipgloss nearby.
I smiled to myself. It was strange, knowing how different we all were and still managing to fit together so perfectly. Like puzzle pieces from different sets that somehow clicked.
The rest of the day was quiet. I took a walk, called my mom, read a few chapters of the book I kept promising myself I'd finish. Nothing special. But not every day has to be fireworks and big revelations. Some days are meant to just be.
That night, after Andrea came back with takeout and insisted we try this "life-changing" playlist she made, we ended up sitting on the living room floor with food containers and mismatched socks. We watched trash TV, sang horribly off-key, and laughed until I couldn't feel my face.
I realized something in that moment, between the ridiculous dancing and second servings of spring rolls—life doesn't always need grand events to be meaningful. Sometimes, it's the ordinary stuff that sticks with you. Frozen waffles. Laughter echoing through cheap apartment walls. That one friend who never shuts up in the morning.