“Not that box,” I assert, without letting any panic seep into my words. I am quite proud of that. “That’s just junk. You know, things that I didn’t want to throw away but it doesn’t really need to see the sunlight again either.”

Okay, technically I didn’t lie. If I told the truth, the universe will have to be on my side, right?

My heart is beating fast. It’s not that I don’t want them to know. It’s me. I don’t want to see it. And I definitely, definitely, don’t want to face that for the first time with people around.

Lena looks at Noah, and I have the feeling that she's looking for his approval. As if she doesn’t know what to do, torn between snooping and letting go, and wants him to decide. Oddly, it makes me feel better. I’m not the only one who sometimes feels like I’m lost in social situations, needing advice or approval from my peers.

Noah doesn’t look at the box. “I’m a bit disappointed,” he says. “I thought you would have some dirty little secrets hidden somewhere, but if we’re already looking at your crap, I’m bored. At least we turned your room into something livable. That’s my good deed of the week, I guess.” There is something in his eyes that’s a bit different from the usual. I mean, I know that I have known him for less than a week, but still… I think that he read the situation perfectly well, letting me keep my privacy rather than doing what he really came here for, which is to be nosey.

I have never been so grateful in my entire life.

I look around. He’s right, actually. It’s not perfect yet, but it actually looks like someone’s bedroom. This was the boost I needed.

Pushing the box back in the closet, I say: “Guys, thanks a lot for this. I think I would have postponed unpacking for at least another week if you didn’t show up.”

Noah searches through one of my sketchbooks. “Trust me, it’s worth it just to see some of the twisted ideas that came out of your brain,” he replies.

Not knowing how to respond, I just offer, “Should I repay you in junk food? I’m sure we have cookies somewhere.”

“Now you’re talking!” Noah exclaims, standing up. “Consider me un-disappointed!”

Lena extends her hand; Noah helps her up. There’s something extremely organic in their interaction and, once more, I can’t help but see the bond between them.

I show them to the living room before I proceed to get a box of cookies from one of the cupboards. Mom makes a point to have all kinds of food in the cupboards for guests. We used to hide the cookies, but we don’t have anyone in the house that likes them anymore, so I am confident I will find some, somewhere.

And without fault, there they are.

When I come back with the snacks, I realize what a bad idea it was to take them to the living room instead of the dining room. Noah studies the photos on the chimney, including the one my mom insisted on putting up, even though it pains our hearts when we see it every day. It led to a big argument between my parents. A fight, even. In the end, they both won – or lost, in my opinion. All the pictures with Peter disappeared, except for the last family portrait we took with him. He looks ridiculously cute, cheeky and dashing at the same time.

“I didn’t know you have a little brother,” Noah comments, pointing at Peter. “I was sure you said you don’t have siblings.”

“I don’t,” I reply, blankly.

Lena looks confused and opens her mouth, but Noah gives her a glance and shakes his head, just once. She closes her mouth and looks down at her phone.

Noah changes the subject, asking where another picture was taken. For the second time today, I am grateful to him beyond words. He gets it, even though he has no idea what it actually is.

I like both of them, and I trust them to some extent. Just not enough to open the Peter chapter.

We sit around the coffee table and start talking about fun things to do in this town at the weekend. It’s a small suburban town, so the list isn’t overwhelming, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.

Lena goes for a second cookie and offers one to Noah before handing me the plate so I can help myself.

“No, thanks. I don’t like cookies.”

“You don’t like cookies,” Lena repeats, as if there is something that she’s misunderstanding.

“That’s right.”

“None of them?”

“What do you mean, ‘none of them’?”

“Out of all the cookies that exist in the world, there isn’t one that you like?”

“I don’t dislike them. If I have to eat one, I’ll do it, but… yeah, no… I don’t like cookies in general,” I answer. Her mouth falls slightly open. “I’m sorry. You look like I just offended you.”

“No, it’s just… I don’t believe I can see you in the same way now.”

“There we go,” Noah says with an exaggerated outraged tone. “Five days of trust down the toilet. For a cookie. How will we ever get past such treason?”

I can’t help but laugh and nor can she.

“Okay, but even you have to admit that it’s weird,” Lena sniffs.

Noah rolls his eyes as to tell her that no one cares who likes cookies or not. “The way I see it,” he counters, “that’s more cookies for us.”