***
By the time the sun dipped behind the buildings, Zara had already declared a mandatory girls’ night.
“No boys, no seriousness, and smiles,” she announces, holding up a pack of sheet masks. “Just us, snacks, and emotional repression in sparkly pajamas.”
Yana snorts. “So, a normal Friday?”
“Exactly.”
We drag their mattresses onto the floor, stacking pillows and blankets like a fort.
The fairy lights Zara had taped on her wall glow in soft pinks and yellows.
It feels like we are twelve again, except now, instead of dreaming about life as adults, we are living it.
I curl up between them, each of us matching with our pj’s.
Zara in green, Yana in red, and me in pink.
Some things never change.
Zara flops beside me, popping popcorn into her mouth. “Alright, movie vote.To All the Boys I’ve Loved Beforeor10 Things I Hate About You?”
“To All the Boys,” I yell at the same time Yana votes for the latter.
“No! I need the enemies!” She glares at me.
“I’m sorry, but the last time we watched To All the Boys was weeks ago, and I need to feel the excitement again.”
“Nothing is exciting about a rom-com you know by heart.” She deadpans.
“Well, I just got a boyfriend, so I need some inspiration. Now I finally relate to Lara Jean.” I use the boyfriend card and am not ashamed to admit it.
“So you mean to tell me you’re fake-dating Luca?” She looks at me suspiciously.
“No, I mean I finally have my first boyfriend.”
“Isn’t it the second one where she actually dates Peter?” She looks at Zara for help.
“Let’s just watch the second one then,” I suggest, not relenting.
“Fine,” she rolls her eyes, and we both look at Zara.
“P.S. I Still Love You,it is,” she goes to Netflix on her computer, and we start the movie.
Zara grins. “Hopeless romantics, both of you.”
As the movie starts, the room is filled with soft light and the sound of Lara Jean Covey narrating her life like it was a diary entry.
About halfway through, we’re all laughing and crying at the same time. Zara yells at Peter like she can change the script, while Yana clutches a pillow every time he smiles.
“Boys like that don’t exist,” Yana declares, waving a chip in the air like it was a microphone. “He’s fictional. He’s literally coded to make us delusional.”
Zara nods solemnly. “Yeah, Peter Kavinsky was scientifically engineered to give women unrealistic expectations. He’s a lab experiment made by a woman.”
I smile softly, hugging my knees to my chest. “They totally do exist.”
Both of them freeze for a second — then Zara’s jaw drops. “Oh, my God. Look at her face. Look at that dreamy little smile,” she teases.
