Unlikely friend

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as Emma walked down the dirt path leading to the lake. A thin mist still clung to the water's surface, drifting like ghosts over the glassy reflection of the trees. She hugged her sketchbook to her chest, feeling the weight of the morning's silence. This place was quickly becoming her refuge—a place where she could exist without expectations, without the need to explain herself to anyone.

She hadn't expected to run into Lily again so soon.

A few days had passed since their first conversation, but something about that girl had lingered in Emma's mind. Her effortless confidence, her sharp wit, the way she spoke like she had no doubts about herself—Emma envied that. Maybe that's why she wasn't surprised when she spotted a familiar figure sitting by the water, barefoot, skipping stones across the surface.

Lily turned at the sound of footsteps, her face breaking into a knowing smile. "You again."

Emma hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Me again."

Lily patted the ground beside her, and after a second of consideration, Emma sat. The damp grass was cool beneath her, and for a while, they just sat in silence, watching the lake. It was comfortable—surprisingly so.

"You come here a lot, huh?" Lily finally asked, tossing another stone. It skipped three times before vanishing beneath the water.

Emma traced the edge of her sketchbook with her fingers. "Yeah. It's quiet here."

Lily smirked. "You don't seem like the chatty type."

Emma shrugged. "Not really."

Lily studied her for a second, then grinned. "That's okay. I like a challenge."

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. There was something easy about Lily, something that made conversation flow despite Emma's usual instinct to keep to herself.

Lily stretched her legs out in front of her. "So, what's the deal with you?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "The deal?"

"You know. The mysterious new girl, always hiding behind her sketchbook, sitting alone at the lake, staring into the abyss." Lily made a dramatic gesture at the water. "You look like you're contemplating the meaning of life or something."

Emma hesitated. She wasn't used to people prying—not that Lily's tone was harsh. It was teasing, playful, but there was something underneath it. Curiosity.

"I just like to draw," Emma finally said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

Lily didn't push. Instead, she leaned closer, tilting her head. "Can I see?"

Emma hesitated again but, for some reason, found herself handing over the sketchbook. It felt oddly intimate, letting someone else see the lines and shapes that had come from her hands, her thoughts.

Lily flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the delicate pencil strokes. Most of Emma's drawings were landscapes—the trees, the lake, the sky at dusk. But here and there, there were people too. Faces half-formed, details blurred, as if she hadn't been sure whether to complete them.

"These are really good," Lily said after a while, genuine admiration in her voice. She paused on one page, where a pair of hands were drawn in exquisite detail, fingers barely touching. "This one's my favorite."

Emma swallowed. She had drawn it without thinking too much about it, but something about it had felt… familiar. She wasn't sure why.

Lily glanced up at her, her expression unreadable. "You see things differently, don't you?"

Emma shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

Lily tapped the page. "Most people just look. But you actually see. That's rare."

Emma wasn't sure how to respond to that. Compliments always felt foreign, like they didn't quite belong to her. But the way Lily said it—like she had truly noticed something about her—made her stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

Lily closed the sketchbook and handed it back. "You should paint sometime."

Emma furrowed her brows. "I do. Sometimes."

Lily grinned. "Then I want to see it."

Emma shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh. "You're kind of pushy, you know that?"

Lily smirked. "And yet, you're still here."

Emma didn't have an answer for that.

They sat in silence again, the wind rustling the trees around them. It was strange, Emma thought. She had always been the type to keep people at arm's length, especially after the mess she had left behind in the city. But Lily had a way of slipping past those defenses, like she belonged there without needing permission.

"Do you ever feel like you don't fit in?" Emma asked suddenly, surprising even herself with the question.

Lily didn't answer right away. She picked up another stone, rolling it between her fingers. "Yeah," she finally said, her voice quieter than before. "All the time."

Emma glanced at her, waiting.

Lily sighed. "This town… it's small. People don't like different here. I learned that a long time ago."

Emma didn't ask what she meant, but she felt the weight of it. She could see it in the way Lily's expression shifted, just slightly—like she had learned to hide certain parts of herself to make things easier.

Emma knew that feeling.

Lily suddenly turned to her, her grin returning, but softer this time. "But you? You're different in a good way. You don't try to fit in."

Emma let out a short laugh. "Maybe because I don't belong here."

Lily nudged her shoulder playfully. "Maybe that's a good thing."

They sat together until the sun rose higher, turning the mist into golden light. And for the first time in a long time, Emma didn't feel quite so alone.

That evening, as Emma lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she thought about Lily's words.

You don't try to fit in. Maybe that's a good thing.

A small part of her wanted to believe that was true.

She turned over, grabbing her sketchbook from the nightstand.

And without really thinking, she started to draw.

This time, the hands weren't just reaching.

They were holding

Emma's pencil moved across the page in slow, deliberate strokes. The image was forming before she even fully realized what she was drawing—two hands intertwined, fingers laced together. There was something different about this one. The details were sharper, more intentional, as if the hands weren't just reaching out, but choosing to hold on.

She stared at it for a long moment, something warm settling in her chest. Then, before she could think too much about it, she flipped the page and shut her sketchbook.

The next morning, Emma found herself walking toward the lake again, half-hoping Lily would be there. The thought made her pause—since when did she go out of her way to see someone?

But sure enough, Lily was already there, perched on a fallen log, her bare feet skimming the water's surface. The sunlight caught in her hair, making the strands glow like embers.

"You're late," Lily teased as Emma approached.

Emma huffed, sitting beside her. "I didn't realize we had a schedule."

Lily grinned. "Well, you keep showing up. So either you secretly like me, or you're just really bad at avoiding people."

Emma shook her head, but she didn't argue.

For a while, they sat in easy silence, listening to the water lap against the shore. Then, Lily spoke again, her voice softer this time.

"You asked me yesterday if I ever feel like I don't fit in."

Emma turned her head, watching as Lily's expression shifted—less playful, more thoughtful.

"There was this girl," Lily said, her fingers idly drawing patterns in the dirt. "When I was fifteen."

Emma's heart stilled.

"She was my best friend," Lily continued. "We did everything together. I thought she felt the same way about me that I felt about her." She let out a dry laugh. "Turns out, I was wrong."

Emma didn't interrupt. She could hear the weight behind Lily's words, the unspoken hurt.

"She told me I was sick," Lily said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That it was just a phase, that I was confused." Her jaw tightened. "And then she told everyone."

Emma's breath caught in her throat.

Lily shrugged, but the movement was forced. "After that, people treated me differently. Not everyone was cruel, but they didn't have to be. Sometimes silence is worse than words, you know?"

Emma knew exactly what she meant.

Lily finally looked at her, and for the first time, Emma saw something raw in her eyes—something unguarded. "That's why I don't let people in easily. It's easier that way."

Emma held her gaze. "Then why are you talking to me?"

Lily hesitated, then smirked, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe I like a challenge too."

Emma wanted to say something, to tell Lily she understood in ways she couldn't put into words. Instead, she reached for her sketchbook and flipped to a blank page.

"Sit still," she said.

Lily blinked. "Why?"

Emma glanced at her. "Because I want to draw you."

Lily grinned, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. "Well, if you insist."

She leaned back slightly, tilting her face toward the sky. The sunlight painted gold across her skin, and Emma found herself mesmerized by the way the light played against the contours of her features.

She had drawn people before, but never like this. Never with the same careful attention to detail, the same need to capture something real.

As the pencil moved, she realized something.

She didn't just want to draw Lily.

She wanted to understand her.

The next few weeks fell into an unexpected rhythm.

Mornings at the lake turned into late-night conversations, whispered words under a sky full of stars. They talked about everything—art, music, childhood dreams, the things they were too afraid to say out loud to anyone else.

Emma found herself opening up in ways she hadn't before. She told Lily about the city, about the relationship that had left her feeling like she was never enough.

Lily listened, never judging, never pushing.

And in return, Emma listened too.

She learned that Lily had big dreams—of leaving this small town behind, of finding a place where she didn't have to hide pieces of herself to be accepted.

"I want to go somewhere where I don't feel like I have to apologize for who I am," Lily admitted one night as they lay side by side on the grass, staring up at the moon.

Emma turned her head, studying her. "You shouldn't have to."

Lily smiled, but it was tinged with something bittersweet. "Yeah, well. Easier said than done."

Emma hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Lily's. It was barely a touch, but she felt Lily still beside her.

"I think you're braver than you realize," Emma said quietly.

Lily didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, she turned her hand over, letting Emma's fingers slip against her palm.

They didn't look at each other.

They didn't need to.

The silence between them was filled with something unspoken, something fragile and new.

And for the first time in a long time, Emma wasn't afraid of what came next.