Grinding Side by Side

I told her this wasn't a date.

"This is strictly platonic adrenaline therapy," I'd said. "You need a break. I need an excuse to eat three funnel cakes. Win-win."

She'd rolled her eyes. But she still showed up.

Now we were two rides in, three snacks deep, and Ermelinda Rivera — girl who never skipped a shift, girl who flinched when her phone buzzed — was laughing so hard on the Tilt-A-Whirl, I thought she might pass out.

I was dizzy, mildly nauseous, and completely smug.

"Okay," she said afterward, clutching the rail like the world might still be spinning. "You win. That was fun."

"Told you," I grinned, handing her a cold bottle of water. "Dr. Elias: healer of burnout."

"You're such a dork."

"A hot dork," I corrected. "The rarest kind."

She made a face. "You are... exhausting."

"And yet, here you are. Spinning through artificial joy with me."

She took a sip of water and shook her head, smile still tugging at her lips.

It's weird how easy it is to forget she's tired all the time.

When she laughs, it's like the world isn't winning for once.

We wandered through the glowing carnival lanes, dodging groups of kids and couples taking selfies under the twinkle lights. Music played from all directions. Someone screamed from the haunted house. A popcorn machine hissed nearby.

She stopped to stare at a booth lined with giant stuffed animals.

"Don't even," she warned as I stepped up.

"Oh, it's happening."

The game was a classic — pop the balloons with darts. I missed two, nailed three.

The prize? A lopsided flamingo that looked like it had regrets.

I handed it to her with a dramatic bow. "For your collection of emotionally confused creatures."

She snorted, but took it. "He looks like he pays taxes and cries in the shower."

"Perfect match."

As the night went on, we kept riding whatever had the shortest line. We screamed on the drop tower, shared a churro, and raced go-karts like our lives depended on it.

She beat me.

Twice.

"I demand a rematch," I said, fake-offended, wiping powdered sugar off my hoodie.

"Nope," she grinned. "You've been dethroned."

She looked... lighter. Like the stress had loosened its grip for a little while.

I almost didn't want the night to end.

Because as long as we were here, she wasn't carrying the world alone.

And neither was I.

...

We'd hit the rides, destroyed our stomachs with churros, and now we were sitting on a curb just outside the carousel, her eating a swirl cone like it was sacred.

Ermelinda Rivera, slayer of exhaustion, was halfway through her ice cream and humming under her breath.

Chocolate at the edges of her mouth. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Legs crossed. That dumb little flamingo I won her tucked beside her on the concrete.

She didn't even know how beautiful she looked right now.

The lights made her hair glow red-gold, like embers instead of braids.She laughed with her whole face, not just her mouth.And when she looked up at me, everything else — the crowd, the music, the weight of home — blurred around the edges.

I watched her lick the side of the cone with laser focus, brow furrowed like she was on a mission. And I swear—

My heart skipped.Actually skipped.Like it forgot it had a job.

I cleared my throat.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she said suddenly, side-eyeing me mid-lick.

"I'm not," I said, lying instantly.

She raised a brow.

"I mean, maybe I was thinking... how is it fair that you look like that and still somehow beat me at go-karts?"

She laughed. "Because you're all bark and no wheel."

I smirked, but turned my eyes back to the carousel.

Just friends. That's what we were.And yet, she made silence feel like music.And ice cream look like art.And tonight… she made everything feel okay.