Then & Now

Eli spent the afternoon walking nowhere in particular.

There was something healing about the way her town felt familiar underfoot. The way the pavement curved near the old elementary school. The worn-down park bench still missing a slat. She passed by these things like old friends she hadn't spoken to in years—quiet, unchanged, patiently waiting.

Her phone buzzed a few times in her pocket. Birthday messages, probably. But she didn't check them.

Instead, she made her way to the bridge near the edge of town—the one that overlooked the narrow creek where she and Maddy used to float paper boats in the spring.

She hadn't talked to Maddy in a long time. Not because of anything dramatic. Just... life. They'd drifted. Different schools. Different friends. Eli wondered if that would keep happening. More people she loved slowly turning into memories. People she'd only ever see through photo albums or tagged posts.

She sat down on the metal rail and dangled her legs over the edge, staring down at the trickle of water below.

The creek looked smaller now.

Back then, it had seemed huge. Like a river. Like a world. They'd built stories around it—castles made of moss, heroes out of sticks. They believed in things then. Magic. Forever. Paper boats that could reach the sea.

Eli picked up a leaf from the ground and let it fall from her hand. It landed in the water, spinning gently before it got stuck in the weeds.

She closed her eyes.

She wasn't sad exactly. Just... aware. Of time. Of change. Of how much quieter the world felt now that she couldn't pretend it was something else.

Behind her, a voice broke through the stillness.

"You always come here when something's eating at you."

Eli turned. It was Nolan.

Nolan had been her best friend once. They'd been inseparable back when their world was smaller, when everything felt like an adventure and each day was full of promise. He had a quiet presence, the kind that was comforting rather than demanding. Back then, he was the one who'd made sure she didn't drift away too much, the one who stood beside her on the playground when she wasn't sure who to talk to. But over the years, their paths diverged. High school had changed everything—new friends, new interests, and, for Eli at least, a growing sense that things were slipping through her fingers. Still, Nolan had always been the one constant who never truly disappeared.

He had that same calm way of walking, hands stuffed in his pockets, hood up even though it wasn't cold. He looked older somehow. But not in a way that made her feel distant from him. More like he understood something now. Something she was just starting to figure out.

"You remembered," Eli said, her voice warm with a touch of surprise, but also familiarity. Nolan was like that—a ghost from her past who had never fully let go.

He shrugged, sitting beside her on the rail. "You remember weird things about people you care about."

They sat in silence for a bit, the kind that didn't feel awkward. With Nolan, silence was easy. It wasn't heavy or weighted. It was comfortable, like old blankets on a rainy day. The kind that wrapped around you without asking.

"I turned eighteen today," she said after a while.

"I know," he replied, his voice steady but kind. "Happy birthday."

She didn't respond right away. She just let the words settle between them. "I thought I'd feel more ready," she admitted. "More... like I was supposed to be. I thought there'd be something. A sign. Or a moment where everything clicks into place."

Nolan shook his head. "I don't think it clicks. I think it unfolds."

Eli looked at him, not sure she fully understood, but feeling the weight of his words anyway.

He smiled faintly, his expression unchanged by time. "Like pages. You don't read a book by flipping to the end and expecting to get it all. You turn the pages. One at a time."

She laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension she'd been carrying. "When did you start sounding like a therapist?"

"I've always sounded like a therapist," he said, nudging her gently with his shoulder. "You just didn't listen back then."

Another pause.

Then, softer, Eli asked, "Do you ever miss being a kid?"

Nolan nodded slowly, his gaze far away. "Yeah. But not in a 'wish I could go back' way. More like... I miss how simple things used to feel. How important small stuff was. I miss believing a day could change the world."

Eli stared down at the creek again, the world around her feeling a little quieter now. "Sometimes I feel like I'm losing her," she said quietly.

"Who?" Nolan asked, looking at her, his voice steady.

"The me that believed in all that. The girl who built blanket forts and cried during cartoons and thought birthdays were magic. I don't want to lose her."

"You don't have to," Nolan said, his voice gentle but certain. "You just carry her with you. Like a shadow that keeps changing shape, but never really leaves."

Eli blinked. That hit harder than she expected. She hadn't realized how much she'd been clinging to that version of herself. The one that could still believe in fairy tales. The one who thought the world was full of endless possibilities.

"Thanks for showing up," she said after a long pause, her voice full of quiet gratitude.

"Always," Nolan replied, his voice warm with the kind of quiet affection that came from years of friendship. "Even when you try to disappear."

They watched the sun drift lower. Gold bled into pink. The sky stretched wide and open, the way it always did before nightfall—like a held breath. It was beautiful, in a way that felt bigger than either of them. Bigger than time, even.

Eli knew there were more hard things ahead. More changes. More people she might lose. More growing up to do.

But right then, in that moment, with the water below and a friend beside her, she felt something shift.

Not everything.

But enough.