'What if I just go back home and pay them a visit? Surely, they won't turn me away, right?'

'Considering they don't pick up your calls or respond to your messages, that sounds like a pretty dumb idea.'

The thought nags at me, and my chest tightens as if it's collapsing inward. I can practically hear Mama's voice, half scolding, half worried, in my mind.

My palms are damp, and I clench them, trying to steady myself. I close my eyes, imagining what it would feel like to stand on their doorstep again after nearly four years.

"Ma'am?"

The monotone voice jolts me back to the present. I blink and whirl around.

The cashier's staring at me, eyebrows raised. "You gonna buy something or what?"

I look down, realizing I'm clutching a bottle of ketchup. I don't even like ketchup. Why did I grab it?

"Uh, sorry, I was just... trying to remember if I left something off my list," I say, a bit too loudly. My voice sounds steady, but inside, my thoughts are spinning. I can't stop seeing their faces, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between us.

The cashier shrugs, snapping his gum. The faint scent of whiskey lingers as he moves past, each pop of his gum oddly grounding me. I take a deep breath, put the ketchup back, and force myself to focus. One foot in front of the other.

I find my way through the aisles, picking up breadsticks, a soda, and a twin pack of bottled water. The rhythm of it helps. Just groceries. Just a normal day.

As I approach the checkout, the cashier scans my items with the same indifferent expression, never meeting my eyes. I gather my bags and step outside, the cool evening air a relief after the stuffy store.

A soft chill prickles my skin, and I pause, feeling an odd sense of... presence, as if someone's eyes are on me. I shake it off, telling myself it's just my mind playing tricks.

But the unease lingers until I spot a familiar figure.

"Gabriel!" His name leaves my lips before I have a chance to reconsider. His smile appears, warm and genuine, though there's something in his eyes, a sadness that always seems to sit just beneath the surface.

"Trying to avoid me?" he teases gently. His voice is light, but his eyes hold steady, as if searching for something in me. It's one of the things I've noticed about him — that unflinching gaze, almost as if he sees more than he's letting on.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "What?! I would never do that. You're like a beacon — I always end up finding you." And it's true; Gabriel has become someone I check on, a familiar presence I seek out without really understanding why.

Gabriel's clothes are simple, worn but always clean, as if he holds onto his dignity no matter what.

His dark hair is pulled back neatly, and his sneakers, though scuffed, look like they've walked a hundred miles with purpose. It's that quiet pride of his, that spark of resilience, that makes it hard not to care.

I hand him a separate bag with the breadsticks, water, and soda. He hesitates, a flicker of something like pride crossing his face, but eventually, he accepts. I insist, knowing that, if roles were reversed, he'd do the same.

"You don't have to do this every time," he murmurs, almost shyly.

I nod, my voice soft. "I know. I just... want to." I had picked these up thinking of him, and as small as the gesture is, it feels like a way of grounding myself.

He takes the bag, and his expression shifts, gratitude mingling with that steady gaze. We stand in silence for a moment, an understanding passing between us, each of us finding something in the other that doesn't need words.

"I'll see you around," I say finally, and he nods, his usual quiet warmth wrapped in a kind of unspoken promise.

I head back to my car, and the strange chill in the air returns. I glance around, shivering, but the streets are empty, and the feeling dissipates, leaving only a lingering unease.

🚗🚗

 
Sinking into my bean bag, I let out a sigh of relief. Sundays are supposed to be my escape from the week's noise, a rare pause in the rhythm of my life.

But my mind keeps drifting back to Gabriel and that fleeting chill. The clock reads 2:35 pm. as I begin to doze off, letting the softness of the bean bag pull me down.

A sharp knock jolts me awake. For a moment, I frown. Who ignores a doorbell? And on a Sunday? I think, dragging myself to the door with half-hearted irritation.

It's her. Frida. My heart lifts as I fling open the door to her grinning face.

"Frida, you annoying ginger," I tease, my tone affectionate despite the words. She leaps into my arms, and I feel a rush of warmth, a break in the cold edges of the day.

Frida is impossible to ignore, her fiery curls and bright laughter filling every room.

She was the force of nature who drew us all together back in university, always the one with the grand ideas and even grander plans. And though years have passed, her presence still has the power to lift me.

"Considering that I derive pleasure from annoying you, I'll take that as a compliment," she laughs, settling herself on my couch like she belongs here.

And she does.

We talk about everything and nothing — work, life, the usual whirlwind of Frida's adventures. She's traveled the world, worked with conservation groups, met people I could only imagine, and yet here she is, curled up on my couch like we're still students with all the time in the world.

Later, as we're cleaning up from dinner, her voice turns reflective.

"You know, when you mentioned your place in Wickham, I got all excited because I thought..." She gives a mischievous grin, gesturing around my small apartment.

"Oh, you thought South Wickham, as in the fancy part of town for the well-off?" I laugh, but there's a pang of truth behind her joke.

I could have splurged on a place like that, but I chose this for a reason.

For the chance to be there if my family ever needed a safe place, even if we're not in touch now.

As the night deepens, Frida and I sink into my bed, her curls fanning out against the pillows, she sighs contentedly.

We've been talking for hours, yet the energy between us feels boundless, like we could keep going forever.

"I think sometimes I'm more comfortable in a tent than in a real bed. Isn't that wild?"

I laugh, nudging her. "Well, I'm not surprised. You've practically lived in every climate and time zone. Must make this feel like a five-star resort."

Frida sighs contentedly, stretching like she's finally home.

"Wow, Red," she says, looking around with an approving smile.

"This place is perfect. I know I've seen it in video calls, but it's different being here. Can't believe it's been almost a year since we last saw each other."

"Yeah," I say, grinning. "Feels like no time at all and yet... forever."

She laughs, nudging me. "And here I thought I'd come back and find you living in some mansion."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, sure. I'd rather have this place, with all its... charm." We both laugh, but a small ache rises in my chest. I'd hoped she'd visit sooner, but life just got in the way for both of us.

"When I'm out there, in the middle of nowhere, I always think about us sitting up late, talking about our 'grand plans.' And then I realize... this is the part I miss most."

"Same here," I say, warmth flooding my chest. "Honestly, I think if we ever lost touch, I'd just end up wandering around trying to find you."

Frida chuckles, her eyes softening. "Well, if you ever get lost, just listen for the loudest rally cries. I'll probably be there, causing a stir."

I grin. "Deal."

A comfortable silence falls between us, and I can feel her eyes on me, like she's about to say something important.

"Um, Red?" she begins hesitantly, "What about family? You think you'll ever... you know, reach out?"

My throat tightens.

"I... I want to. But I feel like they've already let me go. Every time I try to call or text... it's just silence."

I force a smile, though I know she can see right through it. "It's like... talking to a ghost."

She reaches over, squeezing my hand. "Don't give up on them just yet. Sometimes, people just need time."

We fall silent again, and I shift slightly, suddenly reminded of Gabriel and his own silence when it comes to family.

"Anyway, fill me in," Frida says, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Who's everyone in the neighborhood? Anyone interesting?"

I hesitate, then, almost without realizing it, say, "Well, there's this guy, Gabriel."

"Oh?" She raises her eyebrows, immediately intrigued. "Who's Gabriel?"

I let out a little laugh, feeling silly under her curious gaze. "He's... he's just someone I met a few months back. He kind of keeps to himself, but we cross paths all the time. He's... different."

Frida's eyes light up with interest. "Different, huh? Spill it. You don't usually talk about people like this."

I shrug, thinking back to the first time I met him. "He's quiet, and he doesn't share much about himself. He's been through a lot, but there's this quiet strength to him. Like he's carrying his past with grace, not bitterness. It's kind of... inspiring."

She watches me, a soft smile on her face. "Sounds like someone who's made a real impression on you."

I nod, feeling warmth at the thought.

"Yeah, he kind of has. He even helped me out once when my car broke down late at night. He wouldn't leave until he knew I got home safe, and after that, I just kept bumping into him around the neighborhood. He's always around, but he keeps his distance. It's like... an unspoken friendship, if that makes sense."

Frida grins, clearly intrigued. "A mystery man, huh? I'm jealous. You've got this whole life here, and I'm just catching up on all the details." She reaches over, squeezing my hand.

"But I'm glad you have someone like him around. Sounds like he looks out for you."

"Yeah," I murmur, a fondness in my voice I hadn't expected. "He does, in his own way." 

We lie in comfortable silence until Frida shifts again, her gaze drifting toward the window, where the night has deepened into shadow.

"Whatever happens," she says quietly, "I'm glad we're still here, Red. Still together, through all of it."

I reach over, taking her hand. "Me too. Always."

We fall into silence, the night thick and still around us. And just as I'm about to drift off, that same chill sweeps through the room — faint but undeniable, like an unseen presence brushing past. It sends a small shiver down my spine, though I can't explain why.