“I haven’t fallen in love in a long time,” she said suddenly, almost casually. “My last relationship was, what—two years ago?”
I looked up, surprised by the openness in her voice.
She smirked a little, rolling a fry between her fingers. “Yeah. He was… fine. A little self-obsessed, like most guys who think being rich is a personality trait.” She popped the fry into her mouth, shrugged. “Didn’t last. Then I had this thing with a girl a few months back, but that didn’t work out either. She was sweet, but we weren’t… it.”
I blinked, quietly absorbing that.
Aly didn’t usually talk about her personal life, not like this.
She chuckled to herself, turning her head toward me, eyes shining with something playful but soft. “You know, though…” she began, her voice dipping teasingly, “if I had a type again, it’d totally be you.”
I nearly choked on my bread. “M-me?”
Her laugh was loud and bright, bouncing around the room. “Yeah, you,” she said, reaching over to flick my forehead gently. “You’re, like, stupidly cute, Rora. The kind of cute that makes people want to wrap you in bubble wrap. Very girlfriend material, also.”
I stared at her, heat crawling up my neck, and she noticed because her grin softened into something more affectionate.
“But,” she added quickly, waving her hand from side to side, “being friends is the best. Promise.”
I tilted my head, blinking up at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Aly nodded, her expression softening further. “You… you look like someone I want to keep forever, you know? Not in a dating way, just… keep. You make people want to protect you. You make people stay.”
Her words hit somewhere deep.
But I tried to ignore it and just smiled, nudging her shoulders a bit. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
She laughed, tossing a fry at me. “Careful, angel. I might start blushing.”
—
It was already past noon when I finally opened my eyes. Aly groaned softly, stretching her arms like a cat.
“Morning,” she mumbled, voice still husky with sleep.
“More like afternoon,” I whispered back, voice quiet but calm.
We both laughed a little, that soft kind of laugh you share when the world finally feels less heavy.
Aly got up first, dragging me by the wrist downstairs to the kitchen, hair messy, wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts. I trailed behind, still in the borrowed t-shirt she gave me, the sleeves covering my hands.
The kitchen looked like something out of a magazine: marble counters, a double fridge, sunlight flooding in through the glass doors. Aly jumped up and sat on the counter, swinging her legs as she tore into a loaf of bread.
“You want breakfast?” she asked, mouth full.
“I’ll cook,” I offered, already moving to the stove.
“Of course you will,” she teased. “Perfect little housewife.”
I giggled lightly at that; It was cute. Funny too. The fridge was stocked with everything: eggs, butter, milk. I grabbed what I needed and started whisking, the soft sound filling the silence.
Then, out of nowhere, Aly’s voice dropped. “Do you know how he feels?”
I froze mid-whisk. The question hit like a slap, gentle but stinging.
I turned to her slowly, and she was looking right at me, really looking, not teasing this time. Like she wanted to have a serious, proper conversation about this.
Like she knew something I didn’t
