One thing about her is that her braids arealwaysdone, and whoever does them deserves all the respect, because she disappears in the morning and comes back late evening, and the braids never disappoint.
“Us,” I answer simply, because sometimes simplicity speaks louder than a thousand words.
“I really love you guys. I feel like the luckiest girl alive knowing you.”
Zara smiles, her eyes softening. “I love you too, Tills. You’re genuinely the sweetest girl I know.”
She has no idea what those words mean to me.
She sits down next to me on the couch and gets under the blanket. “You genuinely can’t feel happy unless everyone aroundyou is happy as well. Your heart is fragile, and I don’t think you embrace that enough.”
“Aw, wait, that’s so sweet.” I look at her, teary-eyed.
“Sometimes I feel like you hide yourself behind a wall, and it’s unfair. Your soul is the prettiest when it’s exposed, gentle, and vulnerable for the world to see. Fragility doesn’t mean you’re weak,” she squeezes my hand and looks at me seriously. “Showing yourself vulnerable just means you are strong enough to embrace emotions as they are. It’s literally proof you’re stronger than most people.”
She’s right, but sometimes I feel like showing myself is just pushing myself away from people.
My brain can’t grasp the concept of actually being completely open with someone and keeping them around.
It’s like I’m a magnet. The bad side will push people away, the nicely planned out side brings people closer.
The constant need to be perfect is like a drug so addictive that it’s impossible to get rid of.
It’s almost like I’m afraid of being hurt.
“I love you, Zara,” I whisper again, my voice slightly cracking.
“Love you too, Tilly,” Zara says, hugging me tightly.
I get up and walk to my room to unpack.
***
Later that evening, while applying moisturizer in the hotel bathroom, I glance at Yana brushing her hair in the mirror.
We decided to share a bathroom instead of Yana having her own because she can help with makeup, and it’s more fun together.
We’d walk back and forth anyway, so this setup is just easier.
“Yana, can we talk?” My voice comes out shakier than I wanted it.
Crap.
I can feel my stomach twisting in knots like a rollercoaster I don’t want to ride.
She looks up and nods. “Sure, what’s up?”
I swallow, twisting my hands together. “There might be, um, something I haven’t told you yet. And you have to promise,” I take a breath, “you have to promise you won’t get mad.”
My heart hammers like a drum in my chest.
Bam, bam, bam.
“I promise I’ll try?” she tells me warily.
I exhale shakily and press my lips together. “Oh, Lord… I don’t even know how to say this. Basically, something happened that day you were telling me Luca didn’t hate me.” My throat tightens, and I have to stop for a second to swallow. “He might have accidentally sent me a… love paragraph?”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and I quickly explain.
