STEPHANIE
...

It's been a few weeks now, and I can definitely tell there's progress with Mel. She's no longer relying on crutches or walls for support, and her leg's gotten stronger.

At least, that's what I can tell from how she limps less with each passing day. The exercises we've been doing--simple stretches, quad reps--have worked wonders. She's even started doing basic movements with minimal pain. It's impressive, really.

But there's still something restless about her. Even though we've moved on to walking around the backyard instead of staying inside all the time, she's been... complaining.

Not in a major way, but the comments she makes, the little sighs she lets out when we're doing laps around the yard, make me think she's suffocating in that space.

I can relate.

I've noticed it in the way her eyes dart around the yard, how her gaze lingers at the back gate as if it might lead her to something bigger, something freer. She's desperate for change, and the backyard isn't going to cut it anymore.

So, today, I'm going to change that.

"Alright, Mel," I start. She's sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone, one leg tucked underneath her. "Get up. We're going out."

She doesn't look up right away. "Out?"

"Yes, out." I stand there, hands on my hips, making the most dramatic face I can muster because if there's one thing about Mel, she enjoys drama.

"It's time for a change of scenery. I'm taking you shopping. Consider it a reward for all the hard work you've been doing with your rehab."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Shopping? Seriously?" She shoots me a 'thstd the best you can do' look. As if this is not just a favor!

"Yeah, figured you could use a distraction from the--what do you call it--backyard prison."

I try not to notice but we've been dancing around"destructive" so much lately and I wonder if all we need is each other to be distracted.

Nope. Stop.

She narrows her eyes at me. "You've been listening in on my complaints, huh?"

"Not exactly. You make it pretty obvious," I reply with a smile that slips out even when I don't want it to.

"Mmh," she mumbles, standing up. "Fine. I could use some new clothes anyway."

I do a once over and she's in tight jeans today and a long sleeved white shirt, and should I mention that as she walks out the door, her butt really looks hot in those.

My cheeks flare up and I look away even when she can't see me.

"Great."

The light breeze hits us as we step into the open air. I manage to order a ride. The drive to the shopping mall is uneventful. Mel's quieter than usual, and I can tell she's still not entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving her house. But the longer we're out, the more her posture relaxes.

When we get to the mall, I notice her looking around, her eyes flicking from store to store. I can't tell if she's nervous or just taking it all in.

It's weird, watching her try to adjust to being out in the world again, but I get it. For someone who's spent weeks confined to one space, a whole mall must feel like an entire galaxy to navigate.

I take her hand lightly--nothing too dramatic, but just enough to make sure she knows I'm here, that she's not alone. She doesn't pull away, which is a good sign, I think.

We step into the first store, a trendy little boutique that has all kinds of pastel-colored dresses and funky graphic tees. I immediately head for the racks of shirts, pulling out a handful of tops.

"What do you think?" I ask, holding up a soft, lavender shirt with a cute star design.

Mel grimaces. "Uh, no. That looks like something I'd wear if I was twelve and going to a sleepover."

I laugh and grab another one. "Okay, well, I like this one."

I hold up a simple black T-shirt with a little logo on the front.

Mel takes one look at it and snorts. "You would seriously wear that?"

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's basic. Like, if you wear that, you might as well start writing 'don't talk to me' on your forehead." She picks up a shirt that's far more colorful and loud than anything I'd usually go for. "This one, though? This screams 'I'm fun and full of personality.'"

I stare at the neon green, oversized shirt she's holding up and raise an eyebrow. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to wear that."

"Fine, be boring," she teases, throwing the shirt back on the rack. "I'll stick with my vibrant personality, thank you very much."

I roll my eyes but pick out a more neutral shirt. "Okay, Miss Personality. What about this?"

Mel stares at it for a moment, then shrugs. "It's alright, I guess. But I don't know, it just looks like something everyone else would wear. You know what I mean?"

I nod slowly, understanding what she means. "Yeah, I get it. You don't want to be basic even if it's all there is."

She grins. "Exactly."

We move on to another store, and this time, I'm trying to pick something that would actually get a smile out of her.

"So, what's the verdict?" I ask, holding out a simple peachy top with a cute neckline. "Yes? No?"

Mel scrunches up her nose, eyes scanning the shirt. "I feel like it's missing something. Maybe a logo or something to make it more... interesting?"

I blink, unsure if I should be offended or amused. "A logo? On a black shirt? You want me to wear a walking advertisement?"

"Well, yeah. It'd give you personality," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, imagine all the cool brands I could see on your chest."

"Okay, we're definitely not shopping for you," I retort, putting the top back on the rack. "You have no taste."

Mel grins. "Takes one to know one."

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. This is exactly why I wanted her to come with me. She's funny.

After a few more stores, I can tell she's getting more comfortable. Her sarcasm is on full display as I continue to hold up ridiculous outfits.

She snorts at the idea of me even suggesting a floral dress for her, calling it something straight out of a bad rom-com. But there's something else in her eyes now-- less apprehension and more... amusement.

By the time we're walking through the food court, she's actually laughing at one of my bad jokes, and I'm starting to think this was the best idea I've had in a while.

"Alright, alright," I say, holding up a bag of pretzels and a soda. "Let's sit down and talk. How are you feeling?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Physically or emotionally?"

"Both."

She shrugs, picking at her pretzel.

"Physically? I'm good. Honestly, I didn't think I'd be able to make it this far without feeling like I was going to pass out." She pauses and glances around the food court, her gaze softening. "Emotionally? I'm okay. Just-" She stops herself, then adds, "I guess I'm just used to being stuck inside for so long."

I nod, letting her words sink in.

"I get that. But you're doing so much better than you think you are. I'm so proud of you."

Her eyes meet mine for a second, and I see something flash in her expression--appreciation, maybe? It's hard to tell, but something is there, and it's undeniable.

"Thanks," she says quietly, before looking away and taking a sip of her soda. "I guess I needed this."

I smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not done with you yet. You're going to get your ass to that gym with me and then we're going to make you stronger than ever."

She laughs, the sound light and easy but I don't ignore the touch of red on her cheeks. "We'll see about that."

But I can tell she's enjoying herself. And so am I, even if I have to put up with her sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls the entire time.