HAPPY FRIENDSHIP ANNIVERSARY

It started small.

A glance held a second too long during breakfast.

A soft chuckle from Eli when Amelia brushed past him with her cup of tea.

The way he always handed her the marshmallows before anyone asked.

How he remembered, she didn't like too much salt on her fries and quietly swapped his plate with hers when Lena over-seasoned.

No one else seemed to notice.

But Amelia did.

And every time Eli's kindness brushed the edge of something deeper, she smiled, just enough to be polite, and gently stepped away.

One afternoon, they all lounged on the porch after a hike, sweat cooling in the shade.

Nora was leaning back against the railing, laughing at something Kai had said.

Lena was scrolling through photos on her camera.

Eli, holding a bottle of water, turned to Amelia.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low, private.

Amelia nodded. "Yeah."

"He offered her the bottle, unscrewing it first like he always used to.

"Here. You didn't drink much on the trail."

She took it with a soft "Thanks," their fingers barely brushing.

But instead of holding his gaze like she used to, she looked away, pretending to sip longer than she needed.

Eli's eyes lingered on her profile for a moment.

Then, slowly, he looked away, too.

Later that evening, while setting up a board game, Eli instinctively pulled the cushion closer to him for Amelia, the way he always used to in school.

But she chose the seat beside Kai instead.

It wasn't rude. Not sharp. Just… gentle redirection. Every time.

And that's what hurt the most.

Because Eli noticed.

He noticed the way her laughter never quite reached him anymore.

She joined conversations just after he left the room.

How her warmth, once instinctive around him, now had layers of caution.

And still, he kept trying, subtly, tenderly.

He helped fix the loose hem on her hoodie without being asked.

Passed her the last piece of chocolate.

Waited for her outside the cabin when she lingered after dinner.

She smiled.

Every time.

But the smiles no longer reached her eyes.

They were kind. Controlled. Careful.

And though no one else knew what they meant, Eli did.

They meant not now.

They meant don't push.

They meant I'm trying to protect something bigger than just us.

And so he stepped back, just enough.

Still hoping. Still aching.

Because sometimes, the most heartbreaking thing isn't when love is denied.

It's when it's returned in silence, with a smile that says:

"Please don't love me out loud."

Fractures in the Quiet

The evening had fallen soft over the house, the sky outside still blushed with fading sunset.

Most of the group had scattered, some to their rooms, others to the porch, but Eli stood by the hallway, watching Amelia head toward the kitchen, alone.

He didn't wait this time.

"Amelia," he called softly, stepping in.

She froze slightly, fingers tightening around the glass in her hand, then turned. "Hey."

He looked at her with a quiet urgency. "Can we talk?"

There was hesitation in her face.

The same kind of pause he'd noticed growing between them lately.

She gave a small nod and moved to lean against the kitchen counter.

Eli walked in and leaned on the opposite counter, folding his arms. The silence stretched.

"You've been... pulling away," he said finally, his voice low.

Amelia didn't look at him. "I've just been tired."

"No, it's more than that," he said, stepping closer. "Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head, letting out a faint breath that almost became a laugh.

"No, Eli. You didn't. That's the problem."

"What does that mean?"

"I just..." She set the glass down and finally met his eyes.

"I don't want my closeness with you to cause any problems."

He blinked. "With whom?"

"Lena. Nora. Everyone." Her voice wavered slightly.

"You've been spending more time with Nora, and people are talking.

And maybe it's true, I don't know. But I don't want to be the reason anything shifts or breaks between us all."

Eli stared at her, stunned. "So you're pulling away because of them? Because of what people might think?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing," she said, more firmly now.

"No, you're punishing me for something I never did," he snapped.

"I've been trying to be your friend, the way we always were.

I missed you, Amelia.

"And now you act like every moment we share is some kind of mistake.

" She bit her lip, looked away.

He softened. "We've known each other for years.

We were close long before all of this. Before the group. Before feelings got complicated."

"I know," she whispered.

"Then why not just talk to me?

Why pretend nothing's wrong while you avoid me like I'm something to be ashamed of?"

Amelia's eyes glistened faintly, but she blinked them away.

"Because I'm scared, Eli.

I don't want to be the person who breaks our circle apart.

I don't want Lena to think I'm stepping where I shouldn't. Or Nora. Or you."

He stepped even closer, quieter now. "You never needed permission to be in my life, Amelia."

There was a beat of silence. Her voice cracked softly:

"But maybe I need permission to stay."

That broke something in him. He looked at her, the girl who used to laugh with him under school bleachers, the girl who once shared her dreams in scribbled notebook margins.

Now here she was, standing behind invisible lines drawn in fear.

And all he wanted was to cross them.

But she turned away.

"Goodnight, Eli," she said, softly but clearly, before walking out of the kitchen.

Eli stood alone in the dim kitchen, her words echoing in the empty air.