The apartment was alive with the usual rhythm of their second year in the city. Textbooks scattered across the coffee table, mugs with half-finished coffee lined up like soldiers on the counter, and the faint hum of the neighbor’s karaoke machine leaking through the thin walls.

Isla tossed her bag onto the couch and flopped down beside Callie, who was curled up reading notes for their literature class.

“You’ve been staring at that page for ten minutes,” Isla teased, tugging the notebook out of her hands.

“I was thinking,” Callie muttered, reaching for it again. “Give it back.”

“Thinking or daydreaming?” Isla leaned closer, her grin playful but softer than usual. “You get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re lost somewhere else.”

Callie laughed, though her cheeks pinked faintly. “Stop noticing everything. It’s annoying.”

Elara, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her sketchpad, didn’t look up, but her pencil paused mid-stroke. Isla’s words hung in the room longer than they should have.

“Annoying but true,” Isla said, finally handing the notebook back.

Callie rolled her eyes, though she smiled, her fingers brushing Isla’s briefly. The touch lingered just a second too long.

Elara bent back over her drawing. She shaded harder than she meant to, dark lines spreading across the page.

The trio’s days were filled with the usual chaos of city college life. Early morning classes that left them yawning into each other’s shoulders on the bus, nights spent bickering over takeout orders, weekends wandering through flea markets or sitting at the bookstore café two streets over, pretending to study but mostly gossiping.

But small things had shifted. Elara noticed it most.

Isla and Callie walked a little closer these days, shared headphones more often, their laughter spilling between them like a private joke no one else could quite hear. Elara didn’t begrudge them—not really—but sometimes, when she caught her reflection in the window of the bus, sitting quietly beside them while they leaned into each other, she wondered if she was fading into the background of her own story.

One evening, the three of them sprawled across the living room after another grueling week. Isla was lying on the floor, arms stretched above her head. Callie sat with her knees tucked under her chin, scrolling through her phone. Elara sketched quietly from the corner, her lamp throwing a warm pool of light over her notebook.

“Do you ever think about what we’ll be like after college?” Isla asked suddenly.

Callie tilted her head. “You mean career-wise? Or like… us?”

“Both.” Isla rolled onto her side, propping her head on her arm. “I don’t want us to drift apart, you know? Everyone always says it happens. People get busy, they change, and suddenly you don’t even recognize each other anymore.”

Elara’s pencil stilled again.

Callie reached out and nudged Isla’s arm. “We’ve survived this far. We’re not exactly fragile.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Isla said softly, her eyes holding Callie’s.

The air grew heavier, like something important was hovering right there, waiting. Callie shifted under the weight of Isla’s gaze, her lips parting slightly as if she might say something, but no words came.

Elara closed her sketchpad quietly and excused herself to the kitchen, her throat tight. She stood there rinsing a perfectly clean cup, letting the sound of running water drown out whatever she couldn’t bear to hear.

Later that night, when Callie went to bed early, Isla lingered on the balcony. Elara found her there, leaning against the railing, the city lights stretching endlessly below.

“You okay?” Elara asked.

Isla startled slightly, then smiled. “Yeah. Just thinking too much again.”

Elara joined her, resting her arms on the cool metal rail. “You always think too much when it’s about Callie.”

Isla’s head whipped toward her, eyes wide. “Lara…”

“I didn’t mean—” Elara started, but Isla shook her head, laughing softly though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“You notice everything too,” Isla murmured. “I don’t even realize it sometimes until you say it out loud.”

They stood there in silence, the city buzzing beneath them. Elara wanted to say more, wanted to ask Isla what she was so afraid to admit, but her chest felt too heavy. So instead, she whispered, “Don’t lose yourself in it.”

Isla looked at her, confusion flickering before softening into something unreadable.

The following week blurred by in deadlines and exams. Still, the tension didn’t leave. It settled into the corners of their apartment, tucked between laughter and late-night ramen.

One Saturday, Callie and Isla went to the art supply store together, leaving Elara behind. She sat at her desk, pretending to study, but her eyes kept drifting to the empty seats.

When they returned hours later, arms full of paints and sketchbooks, they looked flushed and happy, their shoulders brushing as they carried bags inside.

“You should’ve come with us,” Isla said, dropping onto the couch. “It was fun.”

Elara smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Someone had to hold down the fort.”

Callie gave her a quick grin, unaware of the tightness in Elara’s chest.

That night, Elara dreamt of the ocean again—waves stretching endlessly, shells scattered across the sand. She woke with damp eyes, unsure if it was from the dream or something else.

The next morning, Isla brought it up casually over breakfast. “Hey, did you hear about the upcoming school trip? They’re taking us back to the coast for that seminar series.”

Callie lit up. “The seaside? Finally! I miss the ocean.”

Elara froze, spoon hovering over her bowl. The seaside. The place where everything had begun for them, where memories still pulsed like saltwater in her veins.

Isla noticed her stillness but didn’t comment. Instead, she glanced at Callie, then back at Elara, her expression unreadable.

Something was coming. All three of them felt it, even if none of them dared to say it yet.